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T. Life of colonel Gardiner. 




V. Free thoughts on the means of 


VI. Principles of the christian reli- 
gion IN plain and easy verse. 

VII. Life and character of the rev. 





WILLIAMS, stationers'-court; baynes, paternoster-row; ogle, 










Life of colonel gardiner ,....;. 9 

Poetical Pieces on the Death of Colonel Gardiner 107 

H An Account of the Family of the Munroes of Fowlis 123 





MENT 168 



VERSE 225 



On Pneiiuiatology 299 

On Ethics 414 

On Divinity 542 








SEPTEMBER 21, 1745. 








pail^^^'" ■«.. 




>V HiLE my heart is following you, with a truly paternal solicitude, through 
all the dangers of military life, in which you are thus early engaged, anxious 
for your safety amidst the instruments of death, and the far more dangerous 
allurements of vice, I feel a peculiar pleasure in being able, at length, though 
after such long delays, to put into your hands the memoirs with which I now 
present you. They contain many particulars, which would have been worthy 
of your attentive notice, had they related to a person of the most distant na- 
tion or age: But they will, 1 doubt not, command your peculiar regard, as 
they are sacred to the memory of that excellent man, from whom you had 
the honour to derive your birth, and by whose generous and affectionate care 
you have been laid under all the obligations which the best of fathers could 
confer on a most beloved son. 

Here, Sir, you see a gentleman, who, with all the advantages of a liberal 
and religious education, added to every natural accomplishment that could 
render him most agreeable, entered, before he had attained the stature of a 
man, on tliose arduous and generous services to which you are devoted, and 
behaved in them with a gallantry and courage, which will always give a 
splendour to his name among the British soldiery, and render him an example 
to all officers of his rank. But, alas ! amidst all the intrepidity of the martial 
hero, you see him vanquished by the blandishments of pleasure, and, in chase 
of it, plunging himself into follies and vices, for which no want of education or 
genius could have been a sufficient excuse. You behold him urging the 
ignoble and fatal pursuit, unmoved by the terrors which death wascontinually 
darting around him, and the most signal deliverances by which Providence 
again and again rescued him from those terrors, till at length he was reclaim- 
ed by an ever-memorable interposition of divine grace. Then you have the 
pleasure of seeing him become, in good earnest, a convert to Christianity, and, 
by speedy advances, growing up into one of its brightest ornaments ; his mind 
continually filled with the great ideas which the gospel of our Redeemer sug- 
gests, and bringing the blessed influence of its sublime principles into every 
relation of military and civil, of public and domestic life. You trace him 
persevering in a steady and uniform course of goodness, through a long series 
of honourable and prosperous years, the delight of all that were so happy as 
to know him, and, in his sphere, the most faithful guardian of his country ; 
till at last, worn out with honourable labours, and broken with infirmities 
which they had hastened upon him before the time, you see him forgetting 
them atonce, at the call of duty and providence; with all the generous ardour 
of his most vigorous days rushing on the enemies of religion and liberty, sus- 
taining their shock with the most deliberate fortitude, when deserted by those 
that should have supported him, and cheerfully sacrificing the little remains 
of a mortal life in the triumphant views of a glorious immortality. 

This, Sir, is the noble object I present to your view; and you will, I 
' hope, fix your eye continually upon it, and will never allow yourself for one 
day to forget, that this illustrious man is Colonel Gardiner, your ever honour- 
ed father; who, having approved his Jidditi/ to the death, and received a 

A 2 


crown of life, seems, as it were, by what you here read, to be calling out to you 
from amidst the cloud ofivitnesses with which you are ourrounded, and urging 
you, by every generous, tender, filial sentiment, to mark the footsteps of his 
christian race, and strenuously to maintain that combat, where the victory is, 
through divine grace, certain; and the prize, an eternal kingdom in the heavens. 
The last number of the Appendix introduces a most worthy triumvirate 
of your father's friends, following him thi-ough the same heroic path, to an 
end like his; and with pleasure pouring forth their lives in blood, for the res- 
cue and preservation of their dearer country. And I trust, the eloquence of 
their examples will be prevalent with many, to emulate the many virtues for 
which they were conspicuous. 

My hopes. Sir, that all these powerful motives will especially have their 
full efficacy on you, are greatly encouraged by the certainty which I have of 
your being well acquainted with the evidenceof Christianity in its full extent; 
a criminal ignorance of which, in the midst of great advantages for learning 
them, leaves so many of our young people a prey to deism, and so to vice 
and ruin, which generally bring up its rear. My life would be a continual 
burden to me, if I had not a consciousness in thesightof God, that during the 
years in which the important trust of your education was committed to my 
care, I had laid before you the proofs both of natural and revealed religion, 
in what I assuredly esteem to be, with regard to the judgment, if they are 
carefully examined, an irresistible light ; and that I had endeavoured to at- 
tend them with those addresses which might be most likely to impress your 
heart. You have not, dear Sir, forgotten, and I am confident you can never 
entirely forget, the assiduity with which I have laboured to form your mind, 
not only to what might be ornamental to you in human life, but, above all, to 
a true taste of what is really excellent, and an early contempt of those vanities 
by which the generality of our youth, especially in your station, are debased, 
enervated, and undone. My private, as well as public addresses for this pur- 
pose, will, I know, be remembered by you, and the tears of tenderness with 
which they have so often been accompanied : And may they be so remem- 
bered, that they who are most tenderly concerned, may be comforted under 
the loss of such an inestimable friend as Colonel Gardiner, by seeing that his 
character, in all its most amiable and resplendent parts, lives in you; and 
that, how difficult soever it may be to act up to that height of expectation, 
•with which the eyes of the world will be fixed on the son of such a father, 
you are, in the strength of divine grace, attempting it; at least are following 
him with generous emulation and with daily solicitude, that the steps maybe 
less unequal! 

May the Lord God of your father, and I will add, of both your pious 
and honourable parents, animate your heart more and more with such views 
and sentiments as these! May he guard your life amidst every scene of dan- 
ger, to be a protection and blessing to those that are yet unborn ; and may 
he give you, in some far distant period of time, to resign it by a gentler dis- 
solution than the hero from whom you sprung; or, if unerring Wisdom appoint 
it otherwise, to end it with equal glory ! 
I am, dear Sir, 

Your ever faithful. 
Affectionate Friend, and 
Obliged humble Servant, 


Northarnpton, July 1, 1747, 





§ 1. W HEN I promised the public some larger account of 
the life and character of this illustrious person than I could con- 
veniently insert in my sermon on the sad occasion of his death, 
I was secure, that if Providence continued my capacity of writ- 
ing, I should not wholly disappoint the expectation : For I was 
furnished Avith a variety of particulars, which appeared to me 
worthy of general notice, in consequence of that intimate 
friendship with which he had honoured me during the six last 
years of his life ; a friendship which led him to open his heart 
to me in repeated conversations, with an unbounded confidence 
(as he then assured me, beyond what he had with any other 
man living), so far as religious experiences were concerned; 
and I had also received several very valuable letters from him, 
during the time of our absence from each other, which contain- 
ed most genuine and edifying traces of his christian character. 
But I hoped farther to learn many valuable particulars from the 
papers of his own closet, and from his letters to other friends, 
as well as from what they more circumstantially knew concern- 
ing him : I therefore determined to delay the execution of my 
promise till I could enjoy these advantages, for performing it in 
the most satisfactory manner ; nor have I, on the whole, reason 
to regret that determination. 

§2.1 shall not trouble the reader with all the causes which 
concurred to retard these expected assistances for almost a whole 
year ; the chief of them were, the tedious languishing illness of 
his afflicted lady, through whose hands it was proper the papers 
should pass ; together with the confusion into which the rebels 
had thrown them, when they ransacked his seat at Bankton, 
where most of them were deposited. But having now received 
such of them as have escaped their voracious hands, and could 


conveniently be collected and transmitted, I set myself with the 
greatest pleasure to perform what I esteem not merely a tribute 
of gratitude to the memory of my invaluable friend (though 
never was the memory of any mortal man more precious and 
sacred to me), but out of duty to God, and to my fellow-crea- 
tures ; for I have a most cheerful hope, that the narrative I am 
now to write, will, under the divine blessing, be a means of 
spreading, what of all things in the world every benevolent 
heart will most desire to spread, a warm and lively sense of 

§ 3. My own heart has been so much edified and animated 
by what I have read in the memoirs of persons who have been 
eminent for wisdom and piety, that I cannot but wish the trea- 
sure may be more and more increased : and I would hope the 
■world may gather the like valuable fruits from the life I am now 
attempting ; not only as it will contain very singular circum- 
stances, which may excite a general curiosit}-, but as it comes 
attended with some other particular advantages. 

§ 4. The reader is here to survey a character of such 
eminent and various goodness, as might demand veneration, and 
inspire him with a desire to imitate it too, had it appeared in 
the obscurest rank ; but it will surely command some peculiar 
regard, when viewed in so elevated and important a station, 
especially as it shone, not in ecclesiastical, but military life, 
where the temptations are so many, and the prevalency of the 
contrary character so great, that it may seem no inconsiderable 
praise and felicity to be free from dissolute vice, and to retain 
what, in most other professions, might be esteemed only a medio- 
crity of virtue. It may surely, with the highest justice, be 
expected, that the title and bravery of Colonel Gardiner will 
invite many of our officers and soldiers, to whom his name has 
been long honourable and dear, to peruse this account of him 
with some peculiar attention : In consequence of which it may 
be a means of increasing the number and brightening the cha- 
racter of those who are already adorning their office, their 
country, and their religion ; and of reclaiming those who will 
see rather what the}^ ought to be, than what they are. On the 
Avhole, to the gentlemen of the sword, I would particularly offer 
these memoirs, as theirs by so distinguished a title ; yet I am 
firmly persuaded there are none whose office is so sacred, or 
whose proficiency in the religious life is so advanced, but they 
may find something to demand their thankfulness, and to 
awaken their emulation. 

§ 5. Colonel James Gardiner, of whom we write, was the 


son of Captain Patrick Gardiner, of the famil}' of Torwoodhead, 
by Mrs. Mary Hodge, of the family of Gladsmuir. The cap- 
tain, who was master of a handsome estate, served many years 
in the army of King WiiUani and Q.ueen Anne, and died abroad 
with the British forces in Germany, soon after the battle of 
Hochstedt, through the fatigues he underwent in the duties of 
that celebrated campaign. He had a company in the regiment 
of foot once commanded by Colonel Hodge, his valiant brother- 
in-law, who was slain at the head of that regiment (my memo- 
rial from Scotland says), at the battle of Steenkirk, which was 
fought in the year 1692. 

§ 6. Mrs. Gardiner, our Colonel's mother, was a lady of a 
very valuable character, but it pleased God to exercise her with 
very uncommon trials ; for she not only lost her husband and 
her brother in the service of their country, as before related, 
but also her eldest son, Mr, Robert Gardiner, on the day which 
completed the 16th year of his age, at the siege of Namur in 
1695. But there is great reason to believe God blessed these 
various and heavy afflictions as the means of forming her to that 
eminent degree of piety, which will render her memory honour- 
able as long as it continues. 

§ 7. Her second son, the worthy person of whom I am 
HOW to give a more particular account, was born at Carriden iu 
Linlithgowshire, on the 10th of January, A. D. 1687-8, the 
memorable year of that glorious revolution, which he justly 
esteemed among the happiest of all events ; so that, when he 
was slain in the defence of those liberties, which God then, by 
so gracious a providence, rescued from utter destruction, i. e. 
on the 21st of September 1745, he was aged fifty-seven years, 
eight months, and eleven days. 

§ 8. The annual return of his birth-day was observed by 
him, in the later and better years of his life, in a manner very dif- 
ferent from what is commonly practised ; for instead of making 
it a day of festivity, I am told, he rather distinguished it as a 
season of more than ordinary humiHation before God ; both in 
commemoration of those mercies which he received in the first 
opening of life, and under an affectionate sense, as well as of 
his long alienation from the great author and support of his be- 
ing, and of the many imperfections which he lamented in the 
best of his days and services. 

§ 9. I have not met with many things remarkable concern- 
ing the early years of his life, only that his mother took care to 
instruct him with great tenderness and affection in the principles 
of true Christianity. He was also trained up in human literature 
at the school at Linlithgow, where he made a very considerable 


progress in the languages. I remember to have heard him quote 
some passages of the latin classics very pertinently ; though his 
employment in life, and the various turns which his mind took 
under different impulses in succeeding years, prevented him 
from cultivating such studies. 

§ 10. The good effects of his mother's prudent and exem- 
plary care were not so conspicuous as she wished and hoped in 
the younger part of her son's life ; yet there is great reason to 
believe they were not entirely lost. As they were probably the 
occasion of many convictions, Avhich in his younger years were 
overborne ; so I doubt not, that when religious impressions 
took that strong hold of his heart, which they afterwards did, 
that stock of knowledge which had been so carl}- laid up in his 
mind, was found of considerable service. And I have heard 
them make the observation, as an encouragement to parents 
and other pious friends, to do their duty, and to hope for those 
good consequences of it which may not immediately appear. 

§ 1 1. Could his mother or a very religious aunt, (of ^vhose 
good instructions and exhortations I have often heard him speak 
with pleasure), have prevailed, he M^ould not have thought of a 
military life ; from Avhich it is no wonder these ladies endeavour- 
ed to dissuade him, considering the mournful experience they 
had of the dangers attending it, and the dear relatives they had 
lost already by it. But it suited his taste; and the ardour of 
his spirit, animated by the persuasions of a friend, Avho greatly 
urged it*, was not to be restrained. Nor will the reader won- 
der, that, thus excited and supported, it easily overbore their 
tender remonstrances, when he knows that this lively youth 
fought three duels before he attained to the stature of a man, 
in one of which, Avhen he was about eight years old, he received, 
from a boy much older than himself, a wound in his right cheek, 
the scar of which was alwavs very apparent. The false sense 
of honour which instisrated him to it might seem indeed some- 
thing excusable, in these unripened years, and considering the 
profession of his father, brother and uncle ; but I have often 
heard him mention this rashness with that regret which 'the re- 
flection would naturally give to so wise and good a man in the 
maturity of life. And I have been informed, that after his re- 
markable conversion, he declined accepting a challenge, with 
this calm and truly great reply, which, in a man of his ex- 
perienced bravery, was exceeding graceful : " I fear sinning, 
though you know I do not fear fighting." 

* I suppose this to have been Brigadier General Rue, who had from his cliild- 
hood a peculiar affection for him, 



§ 1 2. He served first as a cadet, which must have been very 
early ; and then, at fourteen years old, he bore an ensign's com- 
mission in a Scotch regiment in the Dutch service; in which he 
continued till the year 1702, when, if my information be right, 
he received an ensign's commission from Queen Anne, Avhich he 
bore in the battle of Ramillies, being then in the nineteenth 
year of his age. In this ever memorable action, he received a 
wound in his mouth by a musket-ball, Avhich hath often been 
reported to be the occasion of his conversion. That report was 
a mistaken one ; but as some very remarkable circumstances at- 
tended this affair, which I have had the pleasure of hearing 
more than once from his own mouth, I hope my reader will ex- 
cuse me, if I give him so uncommon a story at large. 

§ 13. Our young officer was of a party in the Forlorn 
Hope, and was commanded on what seemed almost a desperate 
service, to dispossess the French of the church-yard at Ramil- 
lies, where a considerable number of them were posted to re- 
markable advantage. They succeeded much better than was 
expected ; and it may well be supposed, that Mr. Gardiner, 
who had before been in several encounters, and had the view 
of making his fortune, to animate the natural intrepidity of his 
spirit, was glad of such an opportunity of signalizing himself. 
Accordingly he had planted his colours on an advanced ground ; 
and while he was calling to his men (probably in that horrid 
language which is so peculiar a disgrace to our soldiery, and so 
absurdly common in such articles of extreme danger), he re- 
ceived a shot into his mouth, which, without beating out any of 
his teeth, or touching the fore part of his tongue, went through 
his neck, and came out about an inch and an half on the left 
side of the vertebrae. Not feeling at first the pain of the stroke, 
he wondered what w^as become of the ball ; and in the wildness 
of his surprise began to suspect he had swallowed it ; but drop- 
ping soon after, he traced the passage of it by his finger, when 
he could discover it no other way, which I mention as one cir- 
cumstance among many, which occur to make it probable, that 
the greater part of those, who fall in battle by these instruments 
of death, feel very little anguish from the most mortal wounds. 

§ 14. This accident happened about five or six in the even- 
ing, on the 23d day of May, in the year 1706 ; and the army 
pursuing its advantages against the French, without ever regard- 
ing the wounded, (which was, it seems, the Duke of Marlborough's 
constant method), our young officer lay all night in the field, 
agitated, as may well be supposed, with a great variety of 



thouglits. He assured me, that when he reflected upon the cir- 
cumstances of his wound, that a ball should, as he then con- 
ceived it, go through his head without killing him, he thought, 
God had preserved him by miracle; and therefore assuredly con- 
cluded that he should live, abandoned and desperate as his state 
then seemed to be. Yet, which to me seemed very astonishing, 
he had little thouglits of humbling himself before God, and re- 
turning to him after the wanderings of a life so licentiously 
begun. But expecting to recover, his mind was taken up with 
contrivances to secure his gold, of which he had a good deal 
about him; and he had recourse to a very odd expedient, which 
proved successful. Expecting to be stripped, he first took out 
a handful of that clotted gore, of which he was frequently ob- 
liged to clear his mouth, or he would have been choked ; and 
putting it in his left hand, he took out his money (which I think 
was about nineteen pistoles), and shutting his hand, and bes- 
mearing the back part of it with blood, he kept it in this position 
till the blood dried in such a manner, that his hand could not 
easily fall open, though any sudden surprise should happen, in 
which he might lose the presence of mind, which that conceal- 
ment otherwise would have required. 

§ 15. In the morning, the French, who were masters of the 
spot, though their forces were defeated at some distance, came 
to plunder the slain ; and seeing him, to appearance, almost ex- 
piring, one of them was just applying a sword to his breast, to 
destroy the little remainder of life, when, in the critical moment 
tipon which all the extraordinary events of such a life, as his af- 
terwards proved, were suspended, a cordelier, who attended the 
plunderers, interposed, taking him by his dress for a French- 
man, and said, << Do not kill that poor child." Our young 
soldier heard all that passed, though he was not able to speak 
one word ; and, opening his eyes, made a sign for something to 
drink. They gave him a sup of some spirituous liquor which 
happened to be at hand ; by which, he said, he found a more 
sensible refreshment than he could remember from any thing he 
had tasted either before or since. Then signifying to the Friar 
to lean down his ear to his mouth, he employed the first eflTorts 
of his feeble breath in telling him, what, alas ! was a contrived 
falsehood, that he was nephew to the governor of Huy, a neu- 
tral town in the neighbourhood ; and that, if he could take any 
method of conveying him thither, he did not doubt but his uncle 
would liberally reward him. He had indeed a friend at Huy 
(who, I think, was governor, and, if I mistake not, had been ac- 
quainted with the captain his father), from whom he expected 


a kind reception ; hut the relation was only pretended. On 
hearing this, they laid him on a sort of hand-harrow, and sent 
him hy a file of musqueteers toward the place; but the men lost 
their way, and got into a wood towards the evening, in which 
they were obliged to continue all night. The poor patient's 
wound being still undressed, it is not to be wondered that, by 
this time, it raged violently. The anguish of it engaged him 
earnestly to beg, that thev Avould either kill him outright, or leave 
him there to die, without the torture of any farther motion ; 
and indeed, they were obliged to rest for a considerable time, on 
account of their own weariness. Thus he spent the second 
night in the open air, without any thing more than a common 
bandage to staunch the blood. He hath often mentioned it as a 
most astonishing Providence, that he did not bleed to death ; 
which, under God, he ascribed to the remarkable coldness of 
these two nights. 

§ 16. Judging it quite unsafe to attempt carrying him to 
Huy, from whence they were now several miles distant, his con- 
voy took him early in the morning to a convent in the neighbour- 
hood, where he was hospitably received, and treated with great 
kindness and tenderness. But the cure of his wound was commit- 
ted toan ignorant barber- surgeon, who lived near the house; the 
best shift that could then be made, at a time, when, it may easily 
be supposed, persons of ability in their profession had their hands 
full of employment. The tent which this artist applied, was 
almost like a peg driven into the wound ; and gentlemen of skill 
and experience, when they came to hear of the manner in which 
he was treated, wondered, how he could possibly survive such 
management. But, by the blessing of God on these applica- 
tions, rough as they were, he recovered in a few months. The 
lady abbess, who called him her son, treated him with the affec- 
tion and care of a mother; and he always declared, that every 
thing, which he saw within these walls, was conducted with the 
strictest decency and decorum. He received a great many de- 
vout admonitions from the ladies there ; and they would fain 
have persuaded him to acknowledge what they thought so mira- 
culous a deliverance, by embracing the catholic faith, as they 
were pleased to call it. But they could not succeed ; for though 
no religion lay near his heart, yet he had too much the spirit of 
a gentleman, lightly to change that form of religion, which he 
wore, as it were, loose about him, as well as too much good sense 
to swallow those monstrous absurdities of popery, which imme- 
diately presented themselves to him, unacquainted as he was 
with the niceties of the controvers)^ 

B 2 


§ 17. When his liberty was regained by an exchange of pri- 
soners, and his health thoroughly estabhshed, he was far from 
rendering unto the Lord, according to that wonderful display of 
divine mercy which he had experienced. I know very little of 
the particulars of those wild, thoughtless, and wretched years, 
which lay between the 1 9th and the 30th of his life ; except it be, 
that he frequently experienced the divine goodness in renewed 
instances, particularly in preserving him in several hot mili- 
tary actions, in all which, he never received so much as a wound 
after this, forward as he was in tempting danger ; and yet, that 
all these years were spent in an entire alienation from God, and 
an eager pursuit of animal pleasure, as his supreme good. 
The series of criminal amours in which he was almost incessantly 
engaged during this time, must probably have afforded some 
remarkable adventures and occurrences ; but the memory of 
them is perished. Nor do I think it unworthy noticerhere, that 
amidst all the intimacy of this friendship, and the many years 
of cheerful, as well as serious converse which we spent together, 
I never remember to have heard him speak of any of these 
intrigues, otherwise than in the general, with deep and solemn 
abhorrence. This I the rather mention, as it seemed a most 
genuine proof of his unfeigned repentance ; which, I think, 
there is great reason to suspect, when people seem to take 
a pleasure in relating and describing scenes of vicious in- 
dulgence, which yet they profess to have disapproved and for- 

§ 18. Amidst all these pernicious wanderings from the 
paths of religion, virtue, and happiness, he approved himself 
so well in his military chai'acter, that he was made a Lieutenant 
in that year, viz. 1706 : and I am told, he was very quickly 
promoted to a Cornet's commission in Lord Stair's regiment of 
Scotch Greys ; and on the 31st of January, 1714-15, was made 
Captain-Lieutenant in Colonel Ker's regiment of dragoons. He 
had the honour of being known to the Earl of Stair some time 
before, and was made his Aid-de camp ; and when, upon his 
lordship's being appointed ambassador from his late majesty to 
the court of France, he made so splendid an entrance into Paris, 
Captain Gardiner was his master of the horse ; and I have been 
told, that a great deal of the care of that admirably well ad- 
justed ceremony fell upon him ; so that he gained great credit 
by the manner, in which he conducted it. Under the benign 
influences of his lordship's favour (which to the last day of his 
life he retained) a Captain's commission was procured for him 
(dated July 22d, in the year 1715) in the regiment of dragoons, 


commanded by Colonel Stanhope (now Karl of Harrington); 
and, in the year 1717, he was advanced to the Majority of that 
regiment ; in which office he continued, till it was reduced on 
November 10, 1718, when he was put out of commission. But 
then his Majesty King George I. was so thoroughly apprised of 
his faithful and important services, that he gave him his sign 
manual, entitling him to the first Majority, that should become 
vacant in any regiment of horse or dragoons, which happened 
about five years after to be in Croft's regiment of dragoons, in 
which he received a commission, dated istof June 1724; and 
on the 20th of July, the same year, he was made Major of an 
older regiment, commanded by the Earl of Stair. 

§ 19. As I am now speaking of so many of his military 
preferments, I will dispatch the account of them, by observing, 
that on the 24th of January, 1729-30, he was advanced to the 
rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the same regiment, long under 
the command of Lord Cadogan ; with whose friendship this 
brave and vigilant officer was also honoured for many years. And 
he continued in this rank and regiment till the 19th of April 
1743, when he received a Colonel's commission over a regiment 
of dragoons, lately commanded by Brigadier Bland ; at the head 
of which he valiantly fell, in the defence of his sovereign and 
his country, about two years and a half after he received it. 

§ 20. We will now return to that period of his life which 
passed at Paris, the scene of such remarkable and impor- 
tant events. He continued (if I remember right), several 
years under the roof of the brave and generous Earl of Stair : to 
whom he endeavoured to approve himself by every instance of 
diligent and faithful service . And his lordship gave no inconsi- 
derable proof of the dependence which he had upon him, when, 
in the beginning of the year 1715, he intrusted him with the 
important dispatches relating to a discovery, which, by a series 
of admirable policy, he had made of a design which the French 
King was then forming for invading Great Britain, in favour of 
the Pretender ; in which the French apprehended they were so 
sure of success, that it seemed a point of friendship in one of 
thechief counsellors of that court to dissuade a dependent of his 
from accepting some employment under his Britannic Majesty, 
when proposed by his envoy there ; because, it was said, that, 
in less than six weeks, there would be a revolution in fa- 
vour of, what they called, the family of the Stuarts. The cap- 
tain dispatched his journey with the utmost speed ; a variety of 
circumstances happily occurred to accelerate it ; and they, who 
remember, how soon the regiments which tliat emergency requir- 


edwere raised and armed, will, I doubt not, esteem it a memor- 
able instance, both of the most cordial zeal in the friends of the 
government, and of the gracious care of Divine Providence over 
the house of Hanover, and the British liberties, so incomparably 
connected with its interest. 

§ 21. While Captain Gardiner was at London, in one of 
the journeys he made upon this occasion, he, with that frankness 
which was natural to him, and which in those days was not 
always under the most prudent restraint, ventured to predict, 
from what he knew of the bad state of the French King's health, 
that he would not live six weeks. This was made known by 
some spies who were at St. James's, and came to be reported at 
the court of Versailles ; for be received letters from some friends 
at Paris, advising him not to return thither, unless he could 
reconcile himself to a lodging in the Bastile. But he was soon 
free from that apprehension ; for, if I mistake not, before half that 
time was accomplished, Lewis the XIV. died*; and, it is ge- 
nerally thought, his death was hastened by a very accidental 
circumstance, which had some reference to the Captain's pro- 
phecy : For the last time he ever dined in public, which was a 
very little while after the report of it had been made there, he 
happened to discover our British envoy among the spectators. 
The penetration of this illustrious person was too great, and 
his attachment to the interest of his royal master too well known, 
not to render him very disagreeable to that crafty and tyrannical 
prince, whom God had so long suffered to be the disgrace of 
monarchy and the scourge of Europe. He at first appeared 
very languid, as indeed he was ; but on casting his eye upon 
the Earl of Stair, he affected to appear before him in a much 
better state of health than he really was ; and therefore, as if 
he had been awakened on a sudden from some deep reverie, 
immediately put himself into an erect posture, called up a la- 
boured vivacity into his countenance, and ate much more 
heartily than was by any means advisable, repeating it two or 
three times to a nobleman (I think the Duke of Bourbon), then 
in waiting, " Methinks I eat very well for a sick man who is to 
die so soon f." But this inroad upon that regularity of living 
which he had for some time observed, agreed so ill with him, 
that he never recovered this meal, but died in less than a fort- 
night. This gave occasion for some humourous people to say, 
that old Lewis, after all, was killed by a Briton. But if this 

*Saptember 1, 1715. 

f II me semblc, que jc n^ mange pa?; mal pour un homme qui devoit 
jnourir si tot. 


Story be true (which I think there can be no room to doubt, as 
the Colonel, fiom whom I have often heard it, though absent, 
could scarcel}^ be misinformed), it might more properly be said 
that he fell by his own vanity ; in which view I thought it so re- 
markable, as not to be unworthy a place in these memoirs. 

§ 22. The Captain quickly returned, and continued, with 
small interruptions, at Paris, at least till the year 1720, and 
how much longer, I do not certainly know. The Earl's favour and 
generosity made him easy in his affairs, though he Avas (as has 
been observed above) part of the time out of commission, 
by breaking the regiment to which he belonged, of which 
before he was Major. This was, in all probability, the 
gayest part of his hfe, and the most criminal. Whatever 
wise and good examples he might find in the family where 
he had the honour to reside, it is certain that the French 
court, during the regency of the Duke of Orleans, was one of 
the most dissolute under heaven. What, by a wretched abuse 
of language, have been called intrigues of love and gallantry, 
were so entirely to the Major's then degenerate taste, that, if not 
the whole business, at least the whole happiness of his life con- 
sisted in them ; and he had now too much leisure for one who 
was so prone to abuse it. His fine constitution, than which 
perhaps there was hardly ever a better, gave him great oppor- 
tunities of indulging himself in these excesses ; and his good 
spirits enabled him to pursue his pleasures of every kind, in so 
alert and sprightly a manner, that multitudes envied him, and 
called him, by a dreadful kind of compliment, the happy rake. 

§ 23. Yet still the checks of conscience, and some remain- 
ing principles of so good an education, would break in upon his 
most licentious hours ; and I particularly remember, he told me, 
that when some of his dissolute companions were once congra- 
tulating him on his distinguished felicity, a dog happening at 
that time to come into the room, he could not forbear groaning 
inwardly, and saying to himself, *' Oh that I were that dog P* 
Such was then his happiness ; and such perhaps is that of 
hundreds more, who bear themselves highest in the contempt 
of religion, and glory in that infamous servitude, which they 
affect to call liberty. But these remonstrances of reason and 
conscience were in vain ; and, in short, he carried things so far 
in this wretched part of his life, that I am well assured, some 
sober English gentlemen, Avho made no great pretences to 
religion, how agreeable soever he might have been to them on 
other accounts, rather dechned than sought his company, as 
fearing they might have been ensnared and corrupted by it. 



§ 24. Yet I cannot find, that in these most abandoned days, 
he was fond of drinking. Indeed he never had any natural 
relish for that kind of intemperance, from which he used to 
think a manly pride might be sufficient to preserve persons of 
sense and spirit ; as, by it they give up everything that distin- 
guishes them from the meanest of their species, or indeed from 
animals the most below it ; so that if he ever fell into any ex- 
cesses of this kind, it was merely out of complaisance to his 
company, and that he might not appear stiff and singular. His 
frank, obliging, and generous temper, procured him many 
friends ; and these principles, which rendered him amiable to 
others, not being under the direction true of wisdom and piety, 
sometimes made him, in tlie wa^^s of living he pursued, more 
uneasy to himself than he might perhaps have been, if he could 
entirely have outgrown them ; especially, as he was never a 
sceptic in his principles, but still retained a secret apprehension, 
that natural and revealed religion, though hedid not much care to 
think of either, Avere founded in truth. And with this conviction, 
his notorious violations of the most essential precepts of both, 
could not but occasion some secret misgivings of heart. His 
continual neglect of the Great Author of his being, of whose 
perfections he could not doubt, and to whom he knew him- 
self to be under dail}' and perpetual obligations, gave him, 
in some moments of involuntary reflection, inexpressible re- 
morse ; and this, at times, wrought upon him to such a 
degree, that he resolved he would attempt to pay him some 
acknowledgments. Accordingly, for a few mornings, he did 
it; repeating, in retirement, some passages out of the psalms, and 
perhaps other scriptures, which he still retained in his memory ; 
and owning, in a few strong words, the many mercies and deli- 
\erances he had received, and the ill returns he had made 
for them. 

§ 25. I find among the other papers transmitted to me, the 
following verses, Avhich I have heard him repeat, as what had 
impressed hnu a good deal in his unconverted state : and, as I 
suppose, they did something towards setting him on this effort 
towards devotion, and might probably furnish out a part of these 
orisons, I hope I need make no apology to my reader for 
inserting them, especially as 1 do not recollect, that I have seen 
them any where else : 

Attend my soul { The early birds inspire 
My groveling thoughts with pure celestial fire: 
They from their temperate sleep awake, and pay 
Their thankful anthems for the new-born day. 


See, how the tuneful lark is mounted high. 
And poet-like, salutes the eastern sky ! 
He warbles through the fragrant air his lays. 
And seems the beauties of the morn to praise. 
Rut man, more void of gratitude, awakes, 
And gives no thanks for the sweet rest he takes; 
Looks on the glorious sun's new kindled flame 
Without one thought of him, from whom it came. 
The wretch unhallow'd does the day begin ; 
Shakes off his sleep, but shakes not off his sin, 

§ 26. But these strains were too devout to continue long 
in a heart, as yet, quite unsanctified ; for how readily soever 
he could repeat such acknowledgments of the divine power, 
presence, and goodness, and own his own follies and faults, 
he wasstopt short by the remonstrances of his conscience, as to 
the flagrant absurdity of confessing sins, he did not desire to 
forsake; and of pretending to praise God for his mercies, when 
he did not endeavour to live to his service, and to behave in 
such a manner, as gratitude, if sincere, Avould plainly dictate. 
A model of devotion, where such sentiments made no part, his 
good sense could not digest ; and the use of such language be- 
fore an heart-searching God, merely as an hypocritical form, 
while the sentiments of his soul were contrary to it, justly ap- 
peared to him such daring profaneness, that, irregular as the state 
of his mind was, the thought of it struck him with horror. He 
therefore determined to make no more attempts of this sort; 
and was perhaps one of the first that deliberately laid aside 
prayer, from some sense of God's omniscience, and some natu- 
ral principle of honour and conscience. 

§ 27. These secret debates with himself, and ineffectual 
efforts, Avould sometimes return; but they were overborne 
again and again by the force of temptation ; and it is no wonder, 
that, m consequence of them, his heart grew yet harder. Nor 
was it softened or awakened by some very memorable deliver- 
ances, which at this time he received. He was in extreme 
danger by a fall from his horse, as he was riding post (I think, 
in the streets of Calais), when going down a hill, the horse 
threw him over his head, and pitched over him; so that, when 
he rose, the becist lay beyond him, and almost dead. Yet, 
though he received not the least harm, it made no serious im- 
pression on his mind. In his return from England in the packet 
boat (if I remember right, but a few weeks after the former 
accident), a violent storm, that drove them up to Harwich, 
tossed them from thence, for several hours in a dark night on 
the coast of Holland, and brought them into such extremity, 



that the captain of the vessel urged him to go to prayers imme- 
diatcly, if he ever intended to do it at all ; for he concluded, 
they would in a few minutes be at the bottom of the sea. In 
this circumstance he did pray, and that very fervently too ; and it 
was very remarkable, that \vhile he Avas crying to God for deli- 
verance, the wind fell, and quickly after, they arrived at Calais. 
But the Major was so little affected with what had befallen him, 
that when some of his gay friends, on hearing the story, ralhed 
him upon the efficacy of his pra5''ers, he excused himself from 
the scandal of being thought much in earnest, by saying,. 
" That it was midnight, and an hour, when his good mother 
and aunt were asleep, or else he should have left that part of 
tiie business to them." A speech, which I should not have 
mentioned, but as it shows, in so lively a view, the wretched 
situation of his mmd at that time, though his great deliverance 
from the power of darkness was then nearly approaching. He 
recounted these things to me with the greatest humility, as 
showing how utterly unworthy he was of that miracle of divine 
grace, by which he was quickly after brought to so true and so 
prevalent a sense of religion. 

§ 28. And now I am come to that astonishing part of his 
story, the account of his conversion ; which I cannot enter 
upon, without assuring the reader, that I have sometimes been 
tempted to suppress many circumstances of it ; not onlv, as they 
may seem incredible to some, and enthusiastical to others, but 
as I am very sensible, they are liable to great abuses; which was 
the reason that he gave me for concealing the most extraordi- 
nary from many persons, to whom he mentioned some of the 
rest. And I believe it was this, together with the desire of 
avoiding every thing, that might look like ostentation on this 
head, that prevented his leaving a written account of it ; though 
1 have often entreated him to do it ; as I particularly remember I 
did in the very last letter, I ever wrote him ; and pleaded the 
possibility of his falling amidst those dangers, to which I knew his 
valour might in such circumstances naturally expose him. I 
vas not so happy as to receive any answer to this letter, which 
reached him but a few days before his death ; nor can I cer- 
tainly say, v. hether he had or had not complied with my request, 
as it is very possible, a paper of that kind, if it were written, 
might be lost amidst the ravages, which the rebels made, when 
they plundered Bankton. 

§ 29. The story, however, Avas so remarkable, thiit I had 
little reason to apprehend, I should ever forget it ; and yet, to 
guard against all contingencies of that kind, I wrote it down 
that \ ery evening, as I heard it from his own mouth : And I 


liave now before me the memoirs of that conversation, dated 
August 14, 1739, which condude with these words, (whicli I 
added ; that, if we should both have died that ni^^ht, the world 
might not have lost this edifying and affecting history, or have 
wanted any attestation of it, I was capable of giving) : *' N. B. 
I have written down this account with all the exactness I am 
capable of, and could safel)^ take an oath of it, as to the trufh of 
every circumstance, to the best of my remembrance, as the 
Colonel related it to me a few hours ago." I do not know that 
I had reviewed this paper since I wrote it, till I set myself thus 
publicly to record this extraordinary fact ; but I find it punc- 
tually to agree with what I have often related from my me- 
mory, Avhich I charged carefully with so wonderful and im- 
portant a fact. It is with all solemnity, that I now deliver it 
down to posterity, as in the sight and presence of God ; and I 
chose deliberately to expose myself to those severe censures, 
Avhich the haughty, but empty scorn of infidelity, or principles 
nearly approaching it, and effectually doing its pernicious work, 
may very probably dictate upon the occasion, rather than to 
smother a relation, which may, in the judgment of my con- 
science, be like to conduce so much to the glory of God, the 
honour of the gospel, and the good of mankind. One thing 
more I will only premise, that I hope, none who have heard the 
Colonel himself speak something of this wonderful scene, Avill 
be surprised if they find some new circumstances here ; because 
he assured me, at the time he first gave me the whole narration 
(which was in the very room in which I now write), that he 
had never imparted it so fully to any man living before. Vet, 
at the same time, he gave me full liberty to communicate it to 
whomsoever I should in my conscience judge, it might be useful 
to do it, whether before or after his death. Accordingly, I did, 
while he was alive, recount almost every circumstance I am 
now going to write, to several pious friends ; referring them at 
the same time to the Colonel himself, whenever they might have 
an opportunity of seeing or writing to him, for a farther confir- 
mation of what I told them, if they judged it requisite. They 
glorified God in him ; and I hnmbly hope, many of my readers 
will also do it. They will soon perceive the reason of so much 
caution in my introduction to this story, for which therefore I 
shall make no further apology *. 

■ * It is no small satisfaction to me, sinoe 1 wrote this, to have icreivcd a letter 
from the Rev. Mr. Spears, minister of the pospel at Burntisland, dated Januaiy 14, 
1746-7, in which he relates to nic this -.vholc story, as he had it from the Col-jnel's 
own mouth, about four years after he gave me tlie narration. There is not a single 

C 2 


^ 30. This memorable event happened towards the middle 
of July 1719 ; but I cannot be exact, as to the day. The Major 
had spent the evening (and, if I mistake not, it was the sabbath) 
in some gay company, and had an unhappy assignation with a 
married woman, of what rank or quality I did not particularly 
inquire, whom he was to attend exactly at twelve. The com- 
pany broke up about eleven ; and not judging it convenient to 
anticipate the time appointed, he went into his chamber to kill 
the tedious hour, perhaps, with some amusing book, or some 
other way. But it very accidentally happened, that he took up 
a religious book, which his good mother or aunt had, without 
his knowledge, slipped into his portmanteau. It was called, if 
I remember the title exactly. The Christian Soldier; or, Hea- 
ven taken by Storm ; and was written by Mr. Thomas Watson. 
Guessing by the title of it, that, he should find some phrases of 
his own profession spiritualized, in a manner which, he thought, 
might afford him some diversion, he resolved to dip into it; but 
he took no serious notice of any thing he read in it ; And yet, 
■while this book was in his hand, an impression was made upon 
his mind (perhaps God only knows how), which drew after it a 
train of the most important and happy consequences. 

§ 31 . There is indeed a possibility, that while he was sitting 
in this attitude, and reading in this careless and profane manner, 
he might suddenly fall asleep, and only dream of Avhat he ap- 
prehended he saw. But nothing can be more certain, than that, 
when he gave me this relation, he judged himself to have been 
as broad awake, during the whole time, as he ever was in any 
part of his life; and he mentioned it to me several times after- 
wards, as what undoubtedly passed, not only in his imagination, 
but before his eyes*. 

oircumstance in which either of our narrations disagree; and every one of the parti- 
culars in mine, which seem most astonishing-, are attested by this, and sometimes in 
stronger words ; one only excepted, on which I shall add a short remark when I come 
to it. As this letter was written near Lady Frances Gardiner, at her desire, .ind at- 
tended with a postscript from her own hand, this is, in effect, a sufficient attestation 
how agreeable it was to those accounts, which she must have often heard the Colonel 
give of this matter. 

* Mr. Spears, in the letter mentioned above, where he introduces the Colonel 
telling his own story, has these words: " All of a sudden, there was presented, in a 
very lively manner, to my view, or to my mind, a representation of my glorious Re- 
deemer," &c. And this gentleman adds, in a parenthesis," *' It was so lively and 
striking, that he could not tell whether it was to his bodily eyes, or to those of his 
mind." This makes me think, that what I had said to him on the phenomena of vi- 
sions, apparitions, &c. (as being, when most real, supernatural impressions on thfe 
imagination, rather than attended with any external object), had some influence upon 
him. Yet still it is evident, he looked upon this as a vision, whether it were before 
the eyes, or in the jnind, and not as a dream. 

Life of colonel gardiner. 5J 

§ 32. He thought he saw an unusual blaze of light fall up* 
on the book, Avhile he was reading, which, he at first imagined, 
might happen by some accident in the candle. But lifting up 
his eyes, he apprehended, to his extreme amazement, that there 
•was before him, as it were, suspended in the air, a visible repre- 
sentation of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross, surrounded 
on all sides with a glory; and was impressed, as if a voice, or 
something equivalent to a voice, had come to him, to this effect 
(for he was not confident as to the very words) : " Oh sinner! 
did I suffer this for thee, and are these thy returns?" But whe- 
ther this were an audible voice, or only a strong impression on 
his mind equally striking, he did not seem very confident; 
though, to the best of my remembrance, he rather judged it to 
be the former. Struck with so amazing a phenomenon as this, 
there remained hardly any life in him ; so that he sunk down in 
the arm-chair in Avhich he sat, and continued, he knew not very 
exactly how long, insensible: (which was one circumstance that 
made me several times take the liberty to suggest, that he 
might possibly be all this while asleep). But however that 
were, he quickly after opened his eyes, and saw nothing more 
than usual. 

§ 33. It may easily be supposed, he was in no condition to 
make any observation upon the time, in which he had remained 
in an insensible state ; nor did he, throughout all the remainder 
of the night, once recollect that criminal and detestable assigna- 
tion, which had before engrossed all his thoughts. He rose in a 
tumult of passions not to be conceived, and walked to and fro 
in his chamber, till he was ready to drop down, in unutterable 
astonishment and agony of heart, appearing to himself the vilest 
monster in the creation of God, who had all his lifetime been 
crucifying Christ afresh by his sins, and now saw, as he assured- 
ly believed, by a miraculous vision, the horror of what he had 
done. With this was connected such a view, both of the ma- 
jesty and goodness of God, as caused him to loathe and abhor 
himself, and to repent, as in dust and ashes. He immediately 
gave judgment against himself, that he was most justly Avorthy 
of eternal damnation. He was astonished that he had not been 
immediately struck dead in the midst of his wickedness ; and 
(which, I think, deserves particular remark), though he assured- 
ly believed, that he should ere long be in hell, and settled it as a 
point with himself for several months, that the wisdom and jus- 
tice of God did almost necessarily require, that such an enormous 
sinner should be made an example of everlasting vengeance. 


and a spectacle, as such, both to angels and men; so that he 
hardly durst presume to pray for pardon : yet, what he then suf- 
fered was not so much from the fear of hell, though he con- 
cluded it would soon be his portion, as from a fear of that 
horrible ingratitude he had shown to the God of his life, and to 
that blessed Redeemer, who had been in so affecting a manner 
set forth, as crucified, before him. 

§ 31-. To this he refei's in a letter, dated from Douglas, 
April 1 , 1725, communicated to me by his Lady * ; but I know 
not, to whom it was addressed. His words are these: *' One 
thing relating to my conversion, and a remarkable instance of the 
goodness of God to me, the chief of sinners, I do not remem- 
ber that I ever told to any other person. It was this ; that after 
the astonishing sight I had of my blessed Lord, the terrible con- 
dition in which I was, proceeded not so much from the terrors 
of the law, as from a sense of having been so ungrateful a mon- 
ster to him, whom I thought, I saw pierced for my transgres- 
sions." I the rather insert these words, as they evidently attest 
the circumstance which may seem most amazing in this affair, 
and contain so express a declaration of his own apprehension 
concerning it. 

^ 35. In this view, it may naturally be supposed, that he 
passed the remainder of the night, waking; and he could get 
but httle rest in several, that followed. His mind was con- 
tinually taken up in reflecting on the divine purity and good- 
ness; the grace which had been proposed to him in the gospel, 
and which he had rejected ; the singular advantages he had en- 
ioyed and abused ; and the many favours of Providence, which 
he had received, particularly, in rescuing him from so many 
imminent dangers of death, which, he now saw, must have been 
attended with such dreadful and hopeless destruction. The 
privileges of his education, which he had so much despised, 

*N. B. Where I make an3' extracts, as from Colonel Gardiner's letters, they 
are either from originals, which 1 have in my own hands, or from copies which were 
tiansmitted to me from persons of undoubted credit, chiefly by the Right Hon. Lady 
Frances Gardiner, thi-ough the hands of the Rev. Mr. Webster, one of the ministers 
of Edinburgh. This I the rather mention, because some letters have been broug;ht to 
me as Colonel Gardiner's, concerning which, I have not only been very dubious, but 
morally certain, that they could not have been written by him. I have also heard of 
many uho have been fond of assuring the world, that thej"^ were well acquainted with 
him, and were near him when he fell, whose reports have been most inconsistent 
with each other, as well as contrary to that testimony relatine; to the circumstances 
of his death, which, on the whole, appeared to me, beyond controversy, the most na- 
tural and authentic; from whence, therefore, I shall take my account of that affect- 
ing si-ene. 


now l<iy with an almost unsnpportable weii^bt on his niincl ; and 
the folly of that career of sinful pleasure, which he had, so many 
years, been running with desperate eagerness and unAvorthy de- 
light, now filled him with indignation against himself, and 
against the great deceiver, by whom (to use his own phrase), 
he had been " so wretchedly and scandalously befooled." This 
he used often to express in the strongest terms, which I shall 
not repeat so particularly, as I can recollect some of them. 
But on the whole, it is certain, that by what passed before he 
left his chamber the next day, the whole frame and" disposition 
of his soul was new-modelled and changed ; so that he became, 
and continued to the last day of his exemplary and truly Chris- 
tian life, the very reverse of what he had been before. A variety 
of particulars, which I am afterwards to mention, will illustrate 
this in the most convincing manner. But I cannot proceed to 
them, without pausing a while to adore so illustrious an instance 
of the power and freedom of divine grace, and entreating my 
reader seriously to reflect upon it, that his own heart may be 
suitably afl^ected ; for surely, if the truth of the fact be admit- 
ted in the lowest views, in which it can be placed, {that is, sup- 
posing the first impression to have passed in a dream), it must 
be allowed to have been little, if any thing, less than miraculous. 
It cannot, in the course of nature, be imagined, how such a 
dream should arise in a mind full of the most impure ideas and 
affections, and (as he himself often pleaded) more alienated 
from the thoughts of a crucified Saviour, than from any other 
object that can be conceived ; nor can we surely suppose it 
should, Avithout a mighty energy of the divine power, be ef- 
fectual to produce, not only some transient flow of passion, but 
so entire and so permanent a change in character and conduct. 
§ 36. On the whole, therefore, I must beg leave to express 
my own sentiments of the matter, by repeating, on this occasion, 
what I wrote several years ago, in my eighth sermon on Rege- 
neration, in a passage dictated chiefly by the circumstantial 
knowledge, which I had of this amazing story, and, methinks, 
sufficiently vindicated by it, if it stood entirely alone; which 
yet, I must take the liberty to say, it does not : for I hope th» 
world will be particularly informed, that there is at least a 
second, that does very nearly approach it, whenever the 
established church of England shall lose one of its brightest 
living: ornaments, and one of the most useful members Avhich 
that, or perhaps any other Christian communion, can boast: 
In the mean time, may his exemplary Jife be long continued, 



an(^ his zealous ministry abundantly prospered ! I beg my rea- 
der's pardon for this digression. The passage I referred to 
above, is remarkably, though not equally a]Dplicable to both the 
cases, (as it stands in page 510, vol. ii. of the present edition 
of the Works) ; under that head, where I am showing that God 
sometimes accomplishes the great work, of which we speak, by 
secret and immediate impressions on the mind. After preced- 
ing illustrations, there are the following Avords, on which the 
Colonel's conversion will throw the justest light: '* Yea, I have 
known those of distinguished genius, pohte manners, and great 
experience in human affairs, who, after having outgrown all the 
impressions of a religious education, after having been hardened, 
rather than subdued, by the most singular mercies, even various, 
repeated, and astonishing deliverances, which have appeared to 
themselves no less than miraculous ; after having lived for years 
without God in the world, notoriously corrupt themselves, and 
labouring to the utmost to corrupt others, have been stopt on a 
sudden in the full career of their sin, and have felt such rays of 
the divine presence, and of redeeming love, darting in upon their 
minds, almost like lightning from heaven, as have at once roused, 
over powered , and transformed them ; so that they have come out 
of their secret chamber with an irreconcileable enmity to those 
vices, to which, when they entered them, they were the tamest 
and most abandoned slaves; and have appeared, from that very 
hour, the votaries, the patrons, the champions of religion ; and 
after a course of the most resolute attachment to it, in spite of 
all the reasonings or the railleries, the importunities or the re-. 
proaches of its enemies, they have continued to this day, some of 
its brightest ornaments : A change which I behold with equal 
wonder and delight, and which, if a nation should join m derid* 
ing it, I would adore as the finger of God." 

§ 37. The mind of Major Gardiner continued from this re- 
markable time till towards the end of October, (that is, rather 
more than three months, but especially, the two first of them), 
in as extraordinary a situation as one can well imagine. He 
knew nothing of the joys arising from a sense of pardon; but, 
on the contrary, for the greater part of that time, and with very 
short intervals of hope toward the end of it, took it for granted, 
that he must, in all probability, quickly perish. Nevertheless, 
he had such a sense of the evil of sin, of the goodness of the Di-* 
vine Being, and of the admirable tendency of the Christian 
revelation, that he resolved to spend the remainder of his life, 
while God continued him out of hell, in as rational and as useful 
a manner as he could: and to continue tasting himself at the 


feet of divine mercy every day, and often in a day, if perad^ 
venture there might be hope of pardon, of which all that he 
could say, was, that he did not absolutely despair. He had, at 
that time, such a sense of the degeneracy of his own heart, that 
he hardly durst form any determinate resolution against sin, or 
pretend to engage himself by any vow in the presence of God ; 
but was continually crying to him, that he Avould dehver him 
from the bondage of corruption. He perceived in himself a, 
most surprising alteration with regard to the dispositions of his 
heart ; so that, though he felt little of the delights of religious 
duties, he extremely desired opportunities of being engaged in 
them; and those licentious pleasures, which had before been 
his heaven, were now absolutely his aversion. And indeed, 
when I consider how habitual all those criminal indulgences 
were grown to him, and that he was now in the prime of life, 
and all this while, in high health too, I cannot but be astonish- 
ed to reflect upon it, that he should be so wonderfully sanctifi- 
ed in body, as well as soul and spirit, as that, for all the future 
years of his life, he, from that hour, should find so constant a 
disinclination to, and abhorrence of those criminal sensualities, 
to which he fancied he was before so invincibly impelled by his 
very constitution, that he was used strangely to think, and to say, 
that Omnipotence itself could not reform him, without destroy- 
ing that body, and giving him another*. 

§ 38. Nor was he only deUvered from that bondage of 

* Mr. Spears expresses this wonderful circumstance in these remarkable words : 
•« I was, (said the Colonel to me), eftectually cured of all inclination to that sin I was 
so strongly addicted to, that I thought nothing but shooting me through the head 
could have cured me of it J and all desire and inclination to it was removed as en- 
tirely, as if I had been a sucking child: nor did the temptation return to this day." 
Mr. 'Webster's words on the same subject are these, " One thing I have heard the 
Colonel frequently say, that he was much addicted to impurity before his acquaint- 
ance with religion; but that, so soon as he v.'as enlightened from above, he felt the 
power of the Holy Ghost changing his nature, so wonderfully, that his sanctification 
in this respect seemed more remarkable than in any other." On which, that worthy 
person, makes this very reasonable reflection : " So thorough a change of such a 
polluted nature, evidenced by the most unblemished walk and conversation for a long 
course of years, demonstrates, indeed, the power of the Highest, and leaves no room 
to doubt of its reality." Mr. Spears says, this happened in three days time : But 
from what I can recollect, all that the Colonel could mean by that expression, if he 
used it, (as I conclude he did), was, that he began to make the observation in the 
space of three days ; whereas, during that time, hjs thoughts were so taken up with 
the wonderful views presented to his mind, that he did not immediately attend to it. 
If he had, within the first three days, any temptation to seek some paso from the 
anguish of his mind, in returning to former sensualities, it is a circumstance, he did 
not mention to me; and by what I can recollect of the straip of his discourse, he in- 
timated, if he did not express the contrary. 



corruption, which had been Ijabitual to him for many years, 
but felt in his breast so contrary a disposition, that he was 
grieved to see human nature, in those, to Avhom he was almost 
entirely a stranger, prostituted to such low and contemptible 
pursuits. He therefore exerted his natural courage in a very 
new kind of combat ; and became an open advocate for religion, 
in all its principles, so far as he was acquainted with them, and 
all its precepts, relating to sobriety, righteousness, and godliness. 
Yet he was very desirous and cautious, that he miglit not run 
into an extreme, and made it one of his first petitions to God, 
the very day after these amazing impressions had been wrought 
in his mind, that he might not be suffered to behave with such 
an affected strictness and preciseness, as would lead others 
about him into mistaken notions of religion, and expose it to 
reproach or suspicion, as if it were an unlovely or uncomfort- 
able thing. For this reason, he endeavoured to appear as 
cheerful in conversation as he conscientiously could ; though in 
spite of all his precautions, some traces of that deep inward sense, 
which he had of his guilt and misery, would at times appear. 
He made no secret of it, however, that his views were entirely 
changed, though he concealed the particular circumstances 
attending that change. He told his most intimate com- 
panions freely, that he had reflected on the course of life in 
which he had so long joined them, and found it to be folly and 
madness, unworthy a rational creature, and much more, unwor- 
thy persons calling themselves christians. And he set up his 
standard upon all occasions, against principles of infidelity and 
practices of vice, as determinately and as boldly as ever he dis- 
played or planted his colours, when he bore them with so much 
honour in the field. 

§ 39. I catmot forbear mentioning one struggle of this kind, 
which he described to nic, with a large detail of circumstances, 
the firstday of our acquaintance. There was, atthattime, in Paris, 
acertain lady (whose name, then wellknown in the grand and the 
gay world, 1 must beg leave to conceal), who had imbibed the 
principles of deism, and valued herself much upon being an 
avowed advocate for them. The Major, with his usual frank- 
ness (though, I doubt not, with that politeness of manners, which 
was so habitual to him, and which he retained throughout his 
whole life), answered her like a man, who perfectly saw through 
the fallacy 'of her arguments, and was grieved to the heart for 
lier delusion. On this, she briskly challenged him to debate the 
matter at large, and to fix upon a day for that purpose, when 
he should dine with her, attended with any clergyman he might 


choose, whether of the Protestant or Cathohc communion. A 
sense ofduty would not allow him to decHne this r.liallenge; and yet 
he had no sooner accepted it, but he was thrown into great per- 
])lexity and distress, lest, being (as I remember he expressed it, 
when he told me the stoiy), only a Christian of six weeks old, he 
should prejudice so good a cause, by his unskilful manner of 
defending it. However, he sought his refuge in earnest, and 
repeated prayers to God, that he, who can ordain strength, and 
perfect praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, 
would graciously enable him, on this occasion, to vindicate his 
truths in a manner which might carry conviction along with it. 
He then endeavoured to marshal the arguments in his own mind 
as well as he could ; and apprehending that he could not speak 
with so much freedom, beforea number of persons, especially be- 
fore such, whose province he might, in that case, seem to invade, if 
he had not devolved the principal part of the discourseuponthem, 
he easily admitted the apology of a clergyman or two, to whom 
he mentioned the affair, and waited on the lady alone, upon the 
day appointed. But his heart was so set upon the business, 
that he came earlier than he was expected, and time enough to 
have two hours' discourse before dinner ; nor did he at all de- 
cline having two young persons nearly related to the lady, pre- 
sent during the conference. 

§ 40. The Major opened it with a view of such arguments 
for the Christian religion, as he had digested in his own mind, to 
prove, that the apostles were not mistaken themselves, and that 
they could not have intended to impose upon us in the accounts 
they give of the grand facts they attest ; Avith the truth of which 
facts, that of the Christian religion is most apparently connect- 
ed. And it was a great encouragement to him to find, that, 
unaccustomed as he was to discourses of this nature, he had an 
unusual command botli of thought and expression ; so that he 
recollected and uttered every thing as he could have wished. 
The lady heard with attention ; and though he paused between 
every branch of the argument, she did not interrupt the com-se 
of it, till he told her he had finished his design, and waited for 
her reply. She then produced some of her objections, which he 
took up and canvassed in such a manner, that, at length, she burst 
out into tears, allowed the force of his arguments and replies, 
and appeared, for some time after, so deeph' impressed with 
the conversation, that it was observed by several of her friends; 
And there is reason to believe, that the impression continued, at 
least, so far as to prevent her from ever a])pearing under the 
character of an unbeliever or a sceptic. 

D 2 


§ 41. This is only one specimen, among many, of the battles 
he was almost daily called out to fight in the cause of religion 
and virtue ; with relation to which I find him expressing himself 
thus, in a letter to Mrs. Gardiner, his good mother, dated from 
Parisj the 25th January following, that is, 1719-20* in 
answer to one, in which she had warned him to expect such 
trials: " I have (says he), already met with them, and am 
obliged to fight, and to dispute every inch of ground : But 
all thanks and praise to the great Captain of my salvation ; he 
fights for me ; and then it is no wonder, that I come off more 
than conqueror." By which last expression I suppose he meant 
to insinuate, that he was strengthened and established, rather 
than overborne by this opposition. Yet it was not immediately, 
that he gained such fortitude. He has often told me, how much 
lie felt in those days of the emphasis of those well-chosen words, 
in which he ranks the trial of cruel mockings, with scourgings, 
and bonds, and imprisonments* The continual railleries with 
Avhich he was received in almost all companies where he had 
been most familiar before, did often distress him beyond mea- 
sure ; so that he has several times declared, he would much 
rather have marched up to a battery of the enemy's cannon, 
than have been obliged, so continually as he Avas, to face such 
artillery as this. But, like a brave soldier in the first action 
wherein he is engaged, he continued resolute, though shudder- 
ing at the terror of the assault; and quickly overcame those 
impressions, which it is not perhaps in nature wholly to avoid. 
And therefore I find him, in the letter referred to above, which 
Avas written about half a year after his conversion, " quite 
ashamed to think of the uneasiness, which these things once 
gave him." In a word, he went on, as every resolute Christian, 
by divine grace, may do, till he turned ridicule and opposition, 
into respect and veneration. 

§ 42. But this sensible triumph over these difficulties Avas 
not till his christian experience had been abundantly advanced, 
by the blessing of God, on the sermons he heard (particularly in 
the Swiss Chapel), and on the many hours, Avhich he spent in de- 
vout retirement, pouring out hisAvhole soul before God in prayer. 
He began, Avithin about two months after his first memorable 
change, to perceive some secret dawnings of more cheerful 
hope, that vile as he saw himself to be (and I believe no words 
can express, how vile that was), he might nevertheless obtain 
mercy through a Redeemer. And at length (if I remember 
right, about the end of October 1719), he found all the burden 


of his mind taken off at once, by the powerful impiesslott of that 
memorable scripture upon his mind, Rom. iii. 25, 26. Whom 
God hath set forth for a propitiation ^ through faith in his blood, 
to declare his righteousness in the remission of sins, — that he 
might be Just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus. 
He had used to imagine, that the justice of God required the 
damnation of so enormous a sinner, as he saw himself to be: 
but now he was made deeply sensible, that the divine justice 
might be not only vindicated, but glorified, in saving him by the 
blood of Jesus, even that blood, which cleanseth us from all sin. 
Then did he see, and feel the riches of redeeming love and 
grace, in such a manner, as not only engaged him with the ut- 
most pleasure and confidence to Venture his soul upon it ; but 
even swallowed up, as it were, his whole heart in the returns of 
love, which, from that blessed time, became the genuine and 
delightful principle of his obedience, and animated him with an 
enlarged heart, to turn to the way of God's commandments. 
Tims, God was pleased, as he himself used to speak, in an hour, 
to turn his captivity. All the terrors of his former state were 
changed into unutterable ]oy, which kept him almost continually 
waking for three nights together, and yet refreshed him as the 
noblest of cordials. His expressions, though naturally very 
strong, always seemed to be swallowed up, when he would de- 
scribe the series of thought, through which lie now passed, un- 
der the rapturous experience of that joy unspeakable, and full 
of glory, which then seemed to overflow his very soul ; as indeed 
there was nothing, he seemed to speak of with greater relish. 
And though the first ecstasies of it afterwards subsided into a 
more calm and composed delight, yet were the impressions so 
deep and so permanent, that he assured me, on the word of a 
Christian and a friend, wonderful as it might seem, that for 
about seven years after this, he enjoyed almost an heaven upon 
earth. His soul was so continually filled with a sense of the 
love of God in Christ, that it knew little interruption, but when 
necessary converse and the duties of his station called off his 
thoughts for a little time ; and when they did so, as soon as he 
was alone, the torrent returned into its natural channel again ; 
so that, from the minute of his awakening in the morning, his 
heart was rising to God, and triumphing in him; and these 
thoughts attended him through all the scenes of life, till he lay 
down on his bed again, and a short parenthesis of sleep (for it 
was but a very short one, that he allowed himself) invigorated 
his animal powers for renewing them with greater intenseness 
and sensibility. 


§ 43. I shall have an opportunity of illustrating this in the 
most convincing manner belon', by extracts from several letters, 
•which he wrote to intimate friends during this happy period of 
time ; letters, which breathe a spirit of such sublime and fervent 
piety, as I have seldom met with any where else. In these cir- 
cumstances, it is no wonder that he was greatly delighted with 
Dr. Watts's imitation of the 126th psalm ; since it may be ques- 
tioned whether there ever w^as a person, to whom the following 
stanzas of it were more suitable : 

When God reveal'd his gracious name. 

And chang'd my mournful state. 
My rapture seem'd a pleasing dream; 

Thy grace appear'd so great. 

The world beheld the glorious change. 

And did thine hand confess ; 
My tongue broke out in unknown strains. 

And sung surprising grace. 

•' Great is the work," my neighbours cry'd. 

And own'd the power divine : 
♦' Great is the work," my heart reply'd ; 

*' And be the glory thine." 

Tlie Lord can change the darkest skies. 

Can give us day for night ; 
Make floods of sacred sorrow rise 

To rivers ot delight. 

Let those that sow in sadness, wait 

Till the fair harvest come; 
They shall confess their sheaves are great. 

And shout the blessings home. 

§ 44. I have been so happy as to get the sight of five origi- 
nal letters, which he wrote to his mother about this time, Avhich 
do, in a very lively manner, illustrate the surprising change 
made in the whole current of his thoughts and temper of his 
mind. Many of them were Avritten in the most hasty manner, 
just as the courier, who brought them, Avas, perhaps, unexpect- 
edly setting out ; and they relate chiefly to affairs in which the 
public is not at all concerned : yet there is not one of them, in 
which he has not inserted some warm and genuine sentiments of 
religion. And indeed, it is very remarkable, that though he was 
pleased to honour me with a great many letters, and I have 
seen several more which he wrote to others, some of them on 
journeys, where he could have but a few minutes at command, 
yet I cannot recollect, that ever I saw any one, in which there 
was not some trace of piety. And the Rev. Mr. Webster, w^ho 
was employed to review great numbers of them, that he might 


select such extracts as he should think proper to communicate 
to me, has made the same observation *. 

§ 45. Tile Major, with great justice, tells the good lady his 
mother, " that Avhen she saw him again, she would find the per- 
son indeed the same, but every thing else entirely changed." 
And she might easily have perceived it of herself, by the w^hole 
tenor of those letters, Avhich every where breathe the unaffect- 
ed spirit of a true Christian. They are taken up, sometimes, 
with giving advice and directions concerning some pious and 
charitable contributions, one of which, I remember, amounted to 
ten guineas, though, as he was then out of commission, and had 
not formerly been very frugal, it cannot be supposed he had 
much to spare ; sometimes, in speaking of the pleasure with 
which he attended sermons, and expected sacramental oppor- 
tunities ; and at other times, in exhorting her, established as 
she w^as in religion, to labour after a yet more exemplary charac- 
ter and conduct, or in recommending her to the divine pre- 
sence and blessing, as well as himself to her prayers. What 
satisfaction such letters as these must give to a lady of her dis- 
tinguished piety, who had so long wept over this dear and ami- 
able son as quite lost to God, and on the verge of final destruc- 
tion, it is not for me to describe, or indeed to conceive. But 
hastily as these letters were written, only for private view, I 
will give a few specimens from them in his own words ; which 
will serve to illustrate, as well as confirm, what I have hinted 

§ 46. " I must take the liberty," says he, in a letter dated 
on the first day of the new year, or, according to the old style, 
Dec. 21, 1719, " to entreat you, that you would receive no 
company on the Lord's day. I know you have a great many 
good acquaintance, with Avhose discourses one might be veiy 
well edified ; but as you cannot keep out, and let in, whom you 
please, the best way, in my humble opinion, will be to see 
none." In another, Jan. 25, *' I am happier than any one can 
miagine, except I could put him exactly in the same situation 
with myself ; which is, what the world cannot give, and no man 
ever attained it, unless it were from above." In another, dated 
March 30, which w^asjust before a sacrament, " To-morrow, if 

* His words are these : " I have read over a vast number of the Coloners 
letters, and have not found any of them, however short, and writ in the most pass- 
ing manner, even when posting, but what is expressive of the most passionate 
breathings towards his God and Saviour. If the letter consists but of two sentences, 
religion it not forgoUen, which doubtless deserves to be carefully remarked as the 
most uncontested evidence of a pious mind, ever under the warmest, impressions of 
divine things." 


it please God, I shall be happy, my soul being to be fed with 
the bread of life, which came down from heaven. I shall be 
mindful of you all there." In another of Jan. 29, he thus ex, 
presses that indifference for worldly possessions, which he so re- 
markably carried through all the remainder of his hfe : " I know 
the rich are only stewards for the poor, and must give an ac- 
count of every penny : therefore the less I have, the more easy 
will it be to render a faithful accoimt of it." And, to add no 
more from these letters at present, in conclusion of one of them, 
he has these comprehensive and solemn words : " Now, that he 
•who is the ease of the afflicted, the support of the weak, the 
■wealth of the poor, the teacher of the ignorant, the anchor of 
the fearful, and the infinite reward of all faithful souls, may pour 
out upon you all his richest blessings, shall always be the prayer 
of him, who is entirely yours," &c. 

§ 47. To this account of his correspondence with his ex- 
cellent mother, I should be glad to add a large view of another, 
to which she introduced him, with that reverend and valuable 
person, under whose pastoral care she was placed, I mean the 
justly celebrated Dr. Edmund Calamy, to whom she could not 
but early communicate the joyful news of her son's conversion. 
I am not so happy as to be possessed of the letters, which passed 
between them, which, I have reason to believe, would make a 
curious and valuable collection : But I have had the pleasure of 
receiving, from my worthy and amiable friend, the Rev. Mr. 
Edmund Calamy, one of the letters Avhich the Doctor, his father, 
■wrote to the Major, on this wonderful occasion. I perceive by 
the contents of it, that it w^as the first ; and indeed, it is dated as 
early as the 3d of August, 1719, Avhich must be but a few days 
after his own account, dated August 4t!i, N. S. could reach Eng- 
land. There is so much true religion and good sense in this 
paper, and the counsel it suggests, may be so seasonable to other 
persons in circumstances, Avhich bear any resemblance to his, 
that I make no apology to my reader for inserting a large extract 
from it. 

§ 48. " Dear Sir,- 1 conceive, it will not much surprise 

you to understand that your good mother communicated to me 
your letter to her, dated August 4th, N. S. which brought her 
the news, you conceive would be so acceptable to her. I, who 
have often been a witness to her concern for you on a spiritual 
account, can attest, with what joy this news was received by her, 
and imparted to me as a special friend, who, she knew, would 
bear a part with her on such an occasion. And indeed, if, as our 
Saviour intimates, Luke xv. 7,10. There ist in such cases, joy in 


heaven, and among the angels of God, it may well be supposed, 
that of a pious mother, who has spent so many prayers and 
tears upon you, and has, as it were, travailed in birth with you 
again, till Christ was formed in you, could not be small. You 
may believe me, if I add, that I also, as a common friend of 
hers and yours, and, which is much more, of the Prince of 
Light, whom you now declare you heartily fall in with, in op- 
position to that of the dark kingdom, could not but be tenderly 
affected with an account of it under your own hand. My joy 
on this account, was the greater, considering the importance of 
your capacity, interests, and prospects; which, in such an age 
as this, may promise most happy consequences, on your heartily 
appearing on God's side, and embarking in the interest of our 
dear Redeemer. If I have hitherto, at all remembered vou at 
the throne of grace, at your good mother's desire, (which you 
are pleased to take notice of with so much respect), I can assure 
you, I shall henceforth be led to do it with more concern and 
particularity, both by duty and inclination. And if I were 
capable of giving you any little assistance in the noble design 
you are engaging in, by corresponding with you by letter, 
■while you are at such a distance, I should do it most cheerfuU}'. 
And, perhaps, such a motion may not be altogether unaccept- 
able : For I am inclinable to believe, that when some, whom 
you are obliged to converse with, observe your behaviour so 
different from what it formerly was, and banter you upon it, as 
mad and fanciful, it may be some little relief to correspond with 
one, who will take a pleasure in heartening and encouraging 
you. And when a great many things frequently offer, in which 
conscience may be concerned, where duty may not always be 
plain, nor suitable persons to advise with, at hand, it may be 
some satisfaction to you to correspond with one, with whom yoa 
may use a friendly freedom in all such matters, and on whose 
fidelity you may depend. You may therefore, command me ia 
any of these respects, and I shall take a pleasure in serving you. 
One piece of advice I shall venture to give you, though your 
own good sense will make my enlarging upon it less needful ; I 
mean, that you would from your first setting out, carefully 
distinguish between the essentials of real religion, and those 
things, which are commonly reckoned by its professors to be- 
long to it. The want of this distinction has had very unhappy 
consequences from one age to another, and perhaps, in none 
more than the present. But your daily converse with your 
bible, which you mention, may herein give you great assistance. 



I move also, that since infidelity so much abounds, j-ou would, 
not onlv bv close and serious consideration, endeavour to settle 
yourself well in the fundamental principles of religion, but also 
that, as opportunity ofters, you would converse Arith those 
books, which treat most judiciously on the divine original of 
Christianitv, such as Grotius, Abadie, Baxter, Bates, Du Plcssis, 
&c. which mav establish you against the cavils, tliat occur in 
almost all conversations, and furnish you -with arguments, 
which, when properly offered, may be of use to make some 
impressions on others. But being too much straitened to en- 
large at present, I can only add, that if your hearty falling in 
■with serious religion should prove any liinderance to your ad- 
vancement in the world, which I pra}'^ God it may not, unless 
such advancement would be a real snare to you, I liope you 
will trust our Saviour's word, that it shall be no disadvantage 
to you in the final issue : He has given you his word for it. 
Matt. xix. 29. upon which you may safely depend ; and I am 
satisfied, none that ever did so, at last re})ented of it. May 
you go on and prosper, and the God of all grace and peace be 
with you !" 

§ 49. I think it very evident from the contents of this 
letter, that the Major had not imparted to his mother the most 
singular circumstances attending his conversion : And, indeed, 
there was something so peculiar in them, that I do not wonder, 
he was always cautious in speaking of them, and, especiall}'^, 
that he was at first, much on the reserve. "\V'e may also na- 
turally reflect, that there seems to have been something very 
providential in this letter, considering the debate, in which our 
illustrious convert was so soon engaged ; for it was written but 
about three weeks before his conference with the Lady above- 
mentioned, in the defence of Christianity ; or, at least, before 
the appointment of it. And as some of the books recommended 
by Dr. Calamy, particularly Abadie and Du Plessis, were un- 
doubtedly Avithin his reach, if our English advocates were not, 
this might, by the divine blessing, contribute considerably to- 
wards arming him for that combat, in which he came off with 
such happy success. And as in this instance, so in man}' others, 
they who will observe the coincidence and concurrence of 
things, may be engaged to adore the wise conduct of Provi- 
dence in events, which, when taken singly and by themselves, 
have nothing very remarkable in them. 

§ 50. I think it was about this time, that this resolute and 
exemplary Christian entered upon that methodical manner of 
living, which he pursued through so many succeeding years of 



life ; and, I believe generally, so far as the broken state of his 
health would allow it in his latter days, to the very end of it. 
He used constantly to rise at lour in the morning, and to spend 
his time till six, in secret exercises of devotion, reading, medita- 
tion, and prayer ; in which last he contracted such a fervency of 
spirit, as I believe, few men living ever obtained. This certain- 
ly tended very much to strengthen that firm faith in God, and 
reverend animating sense of his presence, for which he Avas so 
eminently remarkable, and which carried him through the trials 
and services of life, with such steadiness, and with such activity ; 
for he indeed endured, and acted, as always seeing him, who is 
invisible. If at any time he was obliged to go out before six 
in the morning, he rose proportionably sooner ; so that when a 
journey or a march has required him to be on horseback by tour, 
he would be at his devotions, at farthest, by two. He likewise 
secured time for retirement in an evening ; and thathemight have 
it the more at command, and be the more fit to use it properly, 
as well as the better able to rise early the next morning, he ge- 
nerally M^ent to bed about ten : And, during the time I was ac- 
quainted with him, he seldom ate any supper, but a mouthful of 
bread with one glass of wine. In consequence of this, as well as 
of his admirably good constitution, and the long habit he had 
formed, he required less sleep than most persons I have known: 
And I doubt not but his uncommon progress in piety was, in a 
great measure, owing to these resolute habits of self-denial. 

§ 51. A life, any thing like this, could not, to be sure, be 
entered upon, in the midst of such company as he had been 
accustomed to keep, without great opposition ; especially, as 
he did not entirely withdraw himself from cheerful conversation ; 
but, on the contrary, gave several hours every day to it ; lest 
religion should be reproached, as having made him morose. 
He, however, early began a practice, which to the last day of 
his life he retained, of reproving vice and profaneness ; and 
was never afraid to debate the matter with any, under the con- 
sciousness of such superiority in the goodness of his cause. 

§ .52. A remarkable instance of this happened, if I mistake 
not, about the middle of the year 1720, though I cannot be 
very exact as to the date of the story. It was, however, on his 
first return to make anv considerable abode in England after 
this remarkable change. He had heard, on the other side of 
the water, tljat it was currently reported among his companions 
at home, that he was stark mad ; a report, at which no reader, 
who knows the wisdom of the world in these matters, will be 

E 2 


much surprised, any more than himself. He concluded, there- 
fore, that he should have many battles to fight, and was willing 
to dispatch the business as fast as he could. And therefore, 
being to spend a few days at the country house of a person of 
distinguished rank, with whom he had been very intimate, 
(whose name I do not remember that he told me, nor did I think 
proper to inquire after it), he begged the favour of him, that 
he would contrive matters so, that a day or two after lie came 
down, several of their former gay companions miglit meet at 
his Lordship's table, that he might have an opportunity of 
making his apology to them, and acquainting them with the 
nature and reasons of his change. It was accordingly agreed 
to; and a pretty large company met on the day appointed, 
with previous notice, that Major Gardiner would be there. A 
good deal of raillery passed at dinner, to which the Major made 
very little answer. But when the cloth was taken away and 
the servants retired, he begged their patience for a few minutes, 
and then plainly and seriously told them, what notions he 
entertained of virtue and religion, and on what considerations 
he had absolutely determined, that, by the grace of God, he 
would make it the care and business of life, whatever he might 
Jose by it, and whatever censure and contempt he might incur. 
He well knew, how improper it was, in such company, to relate 
the extraordinary manner in which he was awakened ; which 
they would probably have interpreted to a demonstration of 
lunacy, against all the gravity and solidity of his discourse: 
But he contented himself with such a rational defence of a 
righteous, sober, and godly life, as he knew none of them could, 
with any shadow of reason, contest. He then challenged them 
to propose any thing they could urge, to prove that a life of 
irrehgion and debauchery was preferable to the fear, love, and 
worship of the eternal God, and a conduct agreeable to the 
precepts of his gospel. And he failed not to bear his testimony 
from his own experience (to one part of which many of them 
had been witnesses), that after having run the widest round of 
sensual pleasure, with all the advantages, the best constitution 
and spirits could give him, he had never tasted any thing 
that deserved to be called happiness, till he had made reli- 
gion his refuge and his delight. He testified calmly and 
boldly the habitual serenity and peace, that he now felt in his 
breast (for, the most elevated delights he did not think fit to 
plead, lest they should be esteemed enthusiasm), and the com- 
posure and pleasure, with which he looked forward to objects, 


which the grayest sinner must acknowledge to be equally una- 
voidable and dreadful. 

§ 53. I know not what might be attempted by some of the 
company in answer to this ; but I well remember, he told me, 
the master of the table, a person of a A^ery frank and candid 
disposition, cut short the debate, and said, " Come, let us cull 
another cause: We thouglit tiiis man mad, and he is, in good 
earnest, proving that we are so." On the A^hole, this well 
judged circumstance saved him a great deal of trouble. When 
his former acquaintance observed, that he was still conversable 
and innocently cheerful, and that he was immoveable in his 
resolutions, they desisted from farther importunity. And he 
has assured me, that instead of losing any one valuable friend 
by this change in his character, he found himself much more 
esteemed and regarded by many, who could not persuade 
themselves to imitate his example. 

§ 54. I have not any memoirs of Colonel Gardiner's life, 
or of any other remarkable event befalling him in it, from the 
time of his return to England, till his marriage in the year ] 726, 
except the extracts which have been sent mc from some letters, 
which he wrote to his religious friends during this interval, and 
which I cannot pass by without a more particular notice. It 
may be recollected, that in consequence of the reduction of that 
regiment, of which he was Major, he was out of commission 
from Nov. 10, 1718, till June l, 1724: And after he returned 
from Paris, I find all his letters during this period, dated from 
London, where he continued in communion with the Christian 
society, luider the pastoral care of Doctor Calamy. As his good 
mother also belonged to the same, it is easy to imagine, it must 
be an unspeakable pleasure to her, to have such frequent oppor- 
tunities of conversing with such a son, of observing in his 
daily conduct and discourses, the blessed effects of that change, 
Avhich divine grace had made in his heart, and of sitting down 
with him monthly at that sacred feast, where Christians so 
frequently enjoy the divinest entertainments, which they expect 
on this side heaven. I the rather mention this ordinance, be- 
cause, as this excellent lady had a very high esteem for it, so 
she had an opportunity of attending, but the very Lord's day 
immediately preceding her death, which happened on Thurs- 
day Oct. 7, 1725, after her son had been removed from her, 
almost a year. He had maintained her handsomely out of that 
very moderate income, on which he subsisted, since his regiment 
iiad been disbanded ; and when she expressed her gratitude to 
him for it, he assured her (I think, in one of the last letters she 


ever received from him), " that he esteemed it a great honour, 
that God put it into liis power to make, what he called, a very- 
small acknowledgment of all her care for him, and especially 
of the many praj'ers she had olTered on his account, which had 
already been remarkably answered, and the benefit of which he 
hoped ever to enjoy." 

§ 55. I apprehend that the Earl of Stair's regiment, to the 
IVIajority of which he was promoted on the 20th of July, 1724, 
was then quartered in Scotland ; for all the letters in my hand, 
from that time to the 6th of February, 1726, are dated from 
thence, and particularly from Douglas, Stranraer, Hamilton and 
Ayr ; but I have the pleasure to find, from comparing these 
with others of an earlier date from London, and the neighbour- 
ing parts, that neither the detriment, Avhich he must suffer by 
being so long out of commission, nor the hurry of affairs while 
charged witli it, coiild prevent or interrupt that intercourse with 
heaven, which was his daily feast, and his daily strength. 

^56. These were most eminently the happy years of his 
life ; for he had learned to estimate his happiness, not by the 
increase of honour, or the possession of wealth, or by what was 
much dearer to his generous heart than either, the converse of 
the nearest and worthiest human friends, but by nearness to 
God, and by opportunities of humble converse with him, in the 
lively exercise of contemplation, praise, and prayer. Now, 
there was no period of his life, in which he was more eminently 
favoured with these ; nor do I find any of his letters so over- 
flowing with transports of holy joy, as those which were dated 
during this time. There are, indeed, in some of them, such 
very sublime passages, that I have been dubious, whether I 
should communicate them to the public or not, lest 1 should ad- 
minister matter of profane ridicule to some, who look upon all 
the elevations of devotion as contemptible enthusiasm. And it 
has also given me some apprehensions, lest it should discourage 
some pious christians, who after having spent several years in 
the service of God, and in humble obedience to the precepts of 
his gospel, may not have attained to any such heights as these. 
But, on the whole, 1 cannot satisfy myself to suppress them, 
not only as I number some of them, considered in a devotional 
view, among the most extraordinary pieces of the kind, 1 have 
ever met with ; but as some of tlie most excellent and judicious 
persons, I any where know, to whom I have read them, have 
assured me, that they felt their hearts in an unusual manner im- 
pressed, quickened, and edified by them. 

§ 57. I will therefore draw back the veil, and ,show my mucli 


honoured friend in his most secret recesses, that the world may 
see, wluit those springs -were, from whence issued that clear, 
permanent, and living stream of wisdom, piety, and virtue, 
which so apparently ran through all that part of his life, which 
Avas open to public observation. It is not to be imagined, that 
letters written in the intimacy of Christian friendship, some of 
them with the most apparent marks of haste, and amidst a 
variet}' of important public cares, should be adorned with any 
studied elegance of evpression, about which the greatness of his 
soul would not allow him to be, at any time, very solicitous ; for 
he generally, so far as I could observe, wrote as fast as his pen 
could move, which, happily both for him and his many friends, 
was very freely. Yet here the grandeur of his subject has some- 
times clothed his ideas with a language more elevated, than is 
ordinarily to be expected in an epistolary correspondence. 
The proud scorners, who may deride sentiments and enjoy- 
ments like those, which this truly great man so experimentally 
and pathetically describes, I pit}' from my heart ; and grieve to 
think, how imfit they must be for the hallelujahs of heaven, who 
pour contempt upon the nearest approaclies to them : Nor shall 
I think it any misfortune to share with so excellent a person in 
their profane derision. It will be infinitely more than an equi- 
valent for all, that such ignorance and petulancy can think and 
say, if I may convince some, who are, as yet, strangers to reU- 
gion, how real, and how noble its delights are ; if I ma}' encrao-e 
iny pious readers to glorify God for so illustrious an instance 
of his grace; and finally, if I may quicken them, and, above 
all, may rouse my own too indulgent spirit to follow, with less 
unequal steps, an example, to the sublimit}' of which I fear, few 
of us shall, after all, be able fully to attain. And that we may 
not be too much discouraged under the deficiency, let it be re- 
collected, that few have the advantage of a temper naturally so 
warm ; few have an equal command of retirement ; and per- 
haps, hardly any one, who thinks himself most indebted to the 
riches and freedom of divine grace, can trace interpositions of 
it, in all respects, equally astonishing. 

§ 5S. The first of these extraordinary letters, Avhich have 
fallen into my hand, is dated near three years after his conver- 
sion, and addressed to a lady of quality, I believe it is the first, 
the jMajor ever wrote so immediately on the subject of his reli- 
gious consolations and converse Avith God in devout retirement. 
For I well remember, that he once told me, he was so much 
afraid, that something of spiritual pride should mino-le itself 
with the relation of such kind of experiences, that he concealed 


them a long time: But observing with how much freedom the 
sacred writers open all the most secret recesses of their hearts, 
especially in the psalms, his conscience began to be burdened, 
under an apprehension, that, for the honour of God, and in or- 
der to engage the concurrent praises of some of his people, he 
ought to disclose them. On this he set himself to reflect, who, 
among all his numerous acquaintance, seemed at once the most 
experienced Christian he knew, (to whom therefore, such things 
as he had to communicate, might appear solid and credible), 
and who the humblest. He quickly thought of the Lady Mar- 
chioness of Douglas in this view ; and the reader may well 
imagine, that it struck my mind very strongly, to think, that 
now, more than twenty-four years after it was written. Provi- 
dence should bring to my hands, (as it has done within these few 
days), what I assuredly believe to be a genuine copy of that very 
letter, which I had not the least reason to expect, I should ever 
have seen, M'hen I learned from his own mouth, amidst the free- 
dom of an accidental conversation, the occasion and circum- 
stances of it. 

^59. It is dated from London, July 21, 1722; and the 
very first lines of it relate to a very remarkable circumstance, 
which, from others of his letters, I find has happened several 
times. I mean, that, when he had received from any of his 
Christian friends a few lines, which particularly affected his 
heart, he could not stay till the stated return of his devotional 
hour, but immediately retired to pray for them, and to give vent 
to those religious emotions of mind, which such a correspon- 
dence raised. How invaluable was such a friend ! and how 
great reason have those of us, who once possessed a large share 
in his heart, and in those retired and sacred moments, to bless 
God for so singular a felicity ; and to comfort ourselves in a 
pleasing hope, that we may yet reap future blessings, as the 
harvest of those petitions, which he can no more repeat. 

§60. His words are these: "I was so happy as to re- 
ceive yours, just as I ari'ived ; and I had no sooner read it, but 
I shut m}' door, and sought him, whom my soul loveth. I 
sought him, and found him ; and would not let him go, till he 
Iiad blessed us all. It is impossible to find words to express, 
what 1 obtained ; but I suppose, it was something like that, 
which the disciples got, as the}' were going to Emmaus, when 
they said. Did not our hearts burn within us? &c. or rather 
like what Paul felt, when he could not tell, whether he was in 
the body, or out of it." He then menilons his dread of spiritual 
pride, fjom wliich he earnestly prays, that God may deliver and 


preserve him. *' This," says he, " would have hindered ma 
from communicating these things, if I had not such an example 
before me, as the man after God's own heart, saying, I vill de- 
clare what God hath done for my soul ; and elsewhere, The 
humble shall hear thereof, and be glad: Now I am well satisfi- 
ed, that your ladyship is of that number." He then adds, " I 
had no sooner finished this exercise," that is, of prayer above 
mentioned, " but I sat down to admire the goodness of my 
God, that he would vouchsafe to influence, by his free Spirit, 
50 undeserving a wretch as I, and to make me thus to mount up 
with eagle's wings. And, here I was lost again, and got into an 
ocean, where I could find neither bound nor bottom ; but was 
obliged to cry out with the apostle, ' O the breadth, the length, 
the depth, the height of the love of Christ, which passetli 
knowledge!' But if I give way to this strain, I shall never have 
done. That the God of hope, may fill you with all joy and 
peace in believing, that you may abound in hope through the 
power of the Holy Ghost; shall always be the prayer of him, 
who is, with the greatest sincerity and respect, your Lady- 
ship's," &c. 

§61. Another passage, to the same purpose, I find in a 
memorandum, which he seems to have written for his own use, 
dated, Monday, March 11, which I perceive, from many con- 
current circumstances, must have been in the year 1722-3. 
*' This day," siiys he, '* having been to visit Mrs, G. at Ham- 
stead, I came home about two, and read a sermon on these 
words, Psal. cxxx. 4. But there is forgiveness with thee, that 
thou viayest be feared; about the latter end of which, there i^ 
a description of the miserable condition of those, that are slight- 
ers of pardoning grace. From a sense of the great obligations 
I lay under to the Almighty God, Avho hath made me to differ 
from such, from what I was, and from the rest of my conjpanions, 
I Ivnoeled down to praise his holy name ; and I know not that 
in my lifetinie, I ever Jay lower in the dust, never having had a 
fuller view of my own unworthiness. I never pleaded more 
strongly the merits and intercession of him, who, I know, is 
worthy ; never vowed more sincerely to be the Lord's, and to 
accept of Christ, £^s he is offered in the gospel, as my king, 
priest, and prophet ; never had so strong a desire to depart, 
that I might sin no more ; but — ' my grace is sufficient' — curb- 
ed that desire. I never pleaded with greater fervency for the 
Comforter, which, our blessed Lord hath promised, shall abide 
with us for ever. For all which, I desire to ascribe glory, &c. 
to him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb." 



§62. There are several others of liis papers, which speak 
much the same language ; which, had he kept a diary, would, I 
douht not, have filled many sheets. I believe, my devout rea- 
ders would not soon be weary of reading extracts of this kind. 
But that I may not exceed in this part of my narrative, I shall 
mention only two more, each of them dated some years after ; 
that is, one from Douglas, April 1, 1725 ; and the other from 
Stranraer, 25th May following. 

§ 63. The former of these relates to the frame of his spirit 
on a journey ; on the mention of which, I cannot but recollect, 
liow often I have heard him say, that some of the most delight- 
ful days of his life were days, in which he travelled alone, that 
is, with only a servant at a distance ; when he could, especiall}* 
in roads not much frequented, indulge himself in the pleasures 
of prayer and praise ; in the exercise of which last, he was 
greatly assisted by several psalms and hymns, which he had trea- 
sured up in his memory, and which he used, not only to repeat 
^loud, but sometimes to sing. In reference to this, I remember 
the follow^ing passage in a letter, which he wrote to me many 
3'ears after, when, on mentioning mv ever dear and honoured 
friend the Rev. Dr. Watts, he says, " How often, in singing 
some of liis psalms, hymns, or lyrics, on horseback, and else- 
\vhere, has the evil spirit been made to flee, 

" Whene'er my lieart in tune is found, 
" Like David's harp of solemn sound!" 

§ 64. Such Avas the first of April above mentioned, in the 
evening of which he writes thus to an intimate friend : " What 
would I have given this day upon the road, for paper, pen, and 
ink, when the Spirit of the Most High rested upon me! O for 
the pen of a ready waiter, and the tongue of an angel, to declare 
what God hath done this day for my soul ! But in short, it is in 
vain to attempt it : All that I am able to say, is only this, that my 
soul has been for some hours joining Avith the blessed spirits 
above, in giving glory, and honour, and praise, unto him that 
sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb, for ever and ever. 
My praises began from a renewed view of him, whom I saw 
pierced for my transgressions. I summoned the whole hierarchy 
of heaven to join with me ; and I am persuaded, they all echo- 
ed back praise to the Most High. Yea, one would have thought, 
the very larks joined me Avith emulation. Sure then I need not 
make use of many words, to persuade you that a,re his saints, to 
join me in blessing and praising his holy name." He concludes, 


*• May the blessinj^ of the God of Jacob rest upon you all! 
Adieu. Written in great haste, late, and weary." 

§ 65. Scarce can I here refrain from breaking out into more 
copious reflections on the exquisite pleasures of true rehgion, 
when risen to such eminent degrees, which can thus feast the 
soul in its sohtude, and refresh it on journeys; and bring down 
so niucli of heaven to earth, as this delightful letter expresses. 
But the remark is so obvious, that I Avill not enlarge upon it ; 
but to proceed to the other letter above mentioned, which Avas 
written tlie next month, on the Thursday after a sacrament day. 

§ 66. He mentions the pleasure, Avith which he had attend- 
ed a preparation sermon the Saturday before; and then he adds, 
*' I took a w^alk upon the mountains that are over against Ire- 
land ; and I persuade myself, that were I capable of giving you 
a description of what passed there, you would agree, that I had 
much better reason to remember my God from the hilJs of Port 
Patrick, than David from the land of Jordan, and of the Her- 
monites from the hill Mizar." I suppose he means, in reference 
to the clearer discoveries of the gospel, Avith Avhich we are 
favoured. " In short," says he immediately afterwards, in that 
scripture phrase which was become so familiar to him, " I 
wrestled some hours with the angel of the covenant, and made 
supplications to him with floods of tears and cries, — until I had 
almost expired: But he strengthened me so, that like Jacob, I 
had power with God, and prevailed. This," adds he, " is but 
a very faint description : You will be more able to judge of it 
by what you have felt yourself upon the like occasions. After 
such preparatory work, I need not tell you, how blessed the 
solemn ordinance of the Lord's svipper proved to me ; I hope it 
was so to many. You may believe, I should have been exceed- 
ing glad, if my gracious Lord had ordered it so, that I might 
have made you a visit, as I proposed : but I am now glad, it 
was ordered otherwise, since he hath caused so much of his 
goodness to pass before me. Were I to give you an account of 
the many favours, my God hath loaded me with, since I parted 
from you, I must have taken up many days in nothing but writ- 
ing. I hope you will join with me in praises for all the good- 
ness, he has shown to 3'our unworthy brother in the Lord." 

§ 67. Such were the ardours and elevations of his soul: 
But while I record these memorials of them, I am very sensi- 
ble there are man}-, who will be inclined to censure them, as the 
flights of enthusiasm ; for Avhich reason, I must beg leave to 
add, a remark or two on the ocqasion, which will be illustrated 



by several other extracts, which I shall introduce into the sequel 
of these memoirs. The one is, that he never pretends, in any 
of the passages cited above, or elsewhere, to have received any 
immediate revelations from God, which should raise him above 
the ordinary methods of instruction, or discover any thing to 
him, whether ofdoctrmes or facts. No man was farther from 
pretending to predict future events, except it were from the 
moral prognostications of causes naturally tending to produce 
them; in tracing of which he had, indeed, an admirable saga- 
city, as I have seen in some very remarkable instances. Nei- 
ther was he at all inclinable to govern himself by secret impulses 
upon his mind, leading him to things, for which he could 
assign no reason but the impulse itself. Had he ventured, in a 
presumption on such secret agitations of mind, to teach or to do 
any thing not warranted by the dictates of sound sense, and the 
■word of God, I should readily have acknowledged him an en- 
thusiast, unless he could have produced some other evidence, 
than his own persuasion, to have supported the authority of 
them. But these ardent expressions, Avhich some may call 
enthusiasm, seem only to evidence a heart deeply affected with 
a sense of the divine presence and perfections, and of that love 
■which passeth knowledge ; especially, as manifested in our 
redemption by the Son of God, which did indeed inflame his 
whole soul. And he thought he might reasonably ascribe the 
strong impressions, to which men are generally such strangers, 
and of which he had long been entirely destitute, to the agency 
or influence of the Spirit of God upon his heart ; and that, in 
proportion to the degree in which he felt them, he might pro- 
perly say, God was present with him, and he conversed with 
God*. Now, when we consider the scriptural phrases of 
walking with God, of having communion with the Father and 

* The Ingenious and pious Mr. Grove, wl'.o, I tliink, was as little susperted of 
running- into enthusiastical extremes as most divines I could name, has a noble 
passage to this purpose in the sixth volume of his posthumous works, p. 40, 41, 
which, respect to the memori^ of both these excellent persons, inclines me to insert 
here: " How often are good thoughts suggested, viz. to the pure in heart, heavenly 
affections kindled and inflamed ! How often is the Christian prompted to holy ac- 
tions, drawn to his dutj', restored, quickened, persuaded, in such a nianiier, that he 
would be unjust to the Spirit of God, to (luestion his agency in the whole? Yes, Oh 
my soul, tliere is a .Supreme Being, who governs the world, and is present with it, 
who takes up his more special habitation in good men, and is nigh to all who call upon 
him, to sanctify and assist them! Hast thou not felt him, oh my soul ! like another 
soul actuating thy facultie:^, exalting thy faculties, exalting thy views, pm-ifying thy 
j.assions, exciting thy graces, and begetting in thee an abhorrence of sin, and a Io\e. 
of holmesE !" x\iid is not a]l this an argument of his presence, as truly as if thou did-t 
see him?" 


liis Son Jesus Christ, of Christ's coming to them, that open the 
door of their hearts to him, and snpping with them, of God's 
shedding abroad his love in the heart by his Spirit, of his coming 
Avith Jesus Christ and making his abode with any man that loves 
him, of his melting him that worketh righteousness, of his 
making us glad by the light of his countenance, and a variety of 
other equivalent expressions ; I believe, we shall see reason to 
judge much more favourably of such expressions as those now in 
question, than persons who are themselves strangers to elevated 
devotion, and perhaps converse but little with thoir bible, are 
inclined to do ; especially if they have, as many such persons 
have, a temper that inclines them to cavil and land fault. And 
I must farther observe, that amidst all those freedoms, with 
which this eminent Christian opens his devout heart to the 
most intimate of his friends, he still speaks with profound 
awe and reverence of his heavenly Father, and his Saviour, and 
maintains (after the example of the sacred writers themselves), 
a kind of dignity in his expressions, suitable to such a subject ; 
Avithout any of that fond familiarity of language, and degrading 
meanness of phrase, by which it is, especially of late, grown 
fashionable among some (who oieverthcless, I believe, mean 
•weU), to express their love and their humility. 

§ 68. On the whole, if habitual love to God, firm faith 
jn the Lord Jesus Christ, a steady dependence on the divine 
promises, a full persuasion of the wisdom and goodness of all 
the dispensations of providence, a high esteem for the blessings 
of the heavenly world, and a sincere contempt for the vanities 
of this, can properly be called enthusiasm ; then was Colonel 
Gardiner, indeed, one of the greatest enthusiasts, our age has 
]iroduced ; and in proportion to the degree, in which he was so, 
I must esteem him one of the wisest and happiest of mankind ; 
nor do I fear to tell the world, that it is the design of my writing 
these memoirs, and of every thing else, that I undertake in life, 
to spread this glorious and blessed enthusiasm ; which I know to 
be the anticipation of heaven, as well as the most certain way 
to it. 

§ 6y. But lest anv should possibly imagine, that allowing 
the experiences which have been described above, to have been 
ever so solid and important, yet there may be some appearance 
of boasting, in so free a communication of them ; I must add to 
what I have hinted in reference to this above, that I find in many 
of the papers before me very genuine expressions of the deepest 
humility and self-abasement ; which, indeed, such holy converse 
with God in prayer and praise does, above all things in the 


•world, tend to inspire and promote. Thus, in one of his letters, 
he saj's, *< I am but as a beast before him." In another, he calls 
himself " a miserable hell-deserving sinner:" And in another, 
he cries out, " Oh, how good a master do I serve ! but alas, 
how ungrateful am 1 1 What can be so astonishing as the love of 
Christ to us, unless it be the coldness of our sinful hearts to- 
wards such a Saviour ?" With many other clauses, of the like 
nature, which I shall not set myself more particularly ta trace 
through the variety of letters, in which tl>ey occur. 

§ 70. It is a farther instance of this unfeigned humility, 
that when (as his lady, with her usual propriety of language, 
expresses it, in one of her letters to me concerning him), " these 
divine joys and consolations Avere not his daily allowance," he, 
■with equal freedom, in the confidence of Christian friendship, 
acknowledges and laments it. Thus, in the first letter I had 
the honour of receiving from him, dated from Leicester, July 
9, I73y, when he had been mentioning the blessing, with which 
it had pleased God to attend my last address to him, and the 
influence it had upon his mind, he adds : " Much do I stand 
in need of ever}- help, to awaken me out of that spiritual dead- 
ness, which seizes me so often. Once indeed it was quite other-, 
■wise with me, and that for many years : 

" Firm was niy health, my day was bright, 

" And I presum'd 'twould ne'er be night: 

*' Fondly I said withui my heart, 

" Pleasure and peace shall ne'er depart. 

" But I forgot: Thine arm was strong, 

" Which made my mountain stand so long: 

" Soon as thy face began to hide, 

" My health was gone, my comforts died. 

'•' And here," adds he, " hes my sin and my folly." 

§71.1 mention this, that the v.hole matter may be seen 
just as it was, and that other Christians may not be discouraged, 
if they feel some abatement of that fervour, and of those holy 
joys, which they may have experienced during some of the 
first months or years of their spiritual life. But with relation to 
the Colonel, I have great reason to believe, that these which he 
laments as his days of spiritual deadness, were not unani- 
mated ; and, that, quickly after the date of this letter, and 
especially nearer the close of his life, he had farther revivings, 
as the joyful anticipation of those better things in reserve, 
which were then nearly approaching. And thus Mr. Spears, 
in the letter I mentioned above, tells us he related the matter 
to him (for he studies as much as possible to retain the Colonel's 


own words): ^* However," sa3's lie, *' after that liappy period 
of sensible communion, tliounrh my joys and enlargements were 
not so overflowing and sensible, yet I have had habitual real 
communion with God from that day to this ;" the latter end of 
the year 1733 ; *' and I know myself, and all that know me, 
see, that through the grace of God, to which I ascribe all, my 
conversation has been becoming the gospel ; and let me die, 
whenever it shall please God, or Avherever it shall be, I am 
sure I shall go to the mansions of eternal glory," &c. And this 
is perfectly agreeable to the manner in which he used to speak 
to me on this head, which we have talked over frequently and 

§ T2. In this connection, I hope my reader will forgive my 
inserting a little story, which I received from a very worthy 
minister in Scotland, and which I shall give in his own words: 
*' In this period," meaning that which followed the first seven 
years after his conversion, *' when his complaint of compara- 
tive deadness and languor in religion began, he had a dream, 
which, though he had no turn at all for taking notice of dreams, 
yet made a very strong impression upon his mind. He imagin- 
ed that he saw his blessed Redeemer on earth, and that he was 
following him through a large field, following him whom his 
soul loved, but much troubled, because he thought his blessed 
Lord did not speak to him ; till he came to the gate of a bury-, Avhen, turning about, he smiled upon him in such a 
manner as filled his soul with the most ravishing joy ; and, on 
after reflection, animated his faith in believing, that, whatever 
storms and dai'kness he might meet with in the way at the hour 
of death, his glorious Redeemer would lift up upon him the light 
of his life-giving countenance." My correspondent adds a 
circumstance, for which he makes some apology, as what mav 
seem whimsical, and yet made some impression on himself; 
" that there was a remarkable resemblance in the field, in 
Avhich this brave man met death, and that he had represented 
to him in the dream." I did not fully understand this at first ; 
but a passage in that letter from Mr. Spears, which I have men- 
tioned more than once, has cleared it. ** Now observe, Sir, 
this seems to be a literal description of the place where this 
Christian hero ended his sorrows and conflicts, and from which 
he entered triumphantly into the joy of his Lord. For after he 
fell in battle, fighting gloriously for his king and the cause of his 
God, his wounded body, while life was yet remaining, was car- 
ried from the field of battle by the east side of his own enclosure, 
till he came to the churchyard of Tranent, and was brought to 


the ininister's Ijouse ; Avhere be soon after breathed out his soul 
into the hands of bis Lord, and was conducted to liis presence., 
where there is fulhiess of joy, Avithout any cloud or interrup- 
tion, for ever." 

§ 73. I well know, that in dreams there are diverse vaflities, 
and readily acknowledge, tbat nothing certain could be inferred 
from this : Yet it seems at least to show, which way the ima- 
gination was working, even in sleep ; and I cannot think it 
unworthy of a wise and good man sometimes to reflect with 
complacency on any images, which, passing through his mind 
even in that state, may tend either to express or to quicken bis 
love to the great Saviour. Those eminently jiious divines of 
the church of England, Bishop Bull, and Bishop Kenn, do 
both intimate it as their opinion, that it may be a part of the 
service of ministering angels to suggest devout dreams*: And 
I know the worthy person of whom I speak, Mas well ac- 
quainted with that midnight h3^mn of the latter of those excel-. 
lent writers, which has these lines : 

" Lord, lest the tempter me surprise, 
" Watch over tliiiie own sacrifice! 
" All loose, all idle thoughts cast out; 
" And make my very dreams devout [" 

Nor would it be difficult to produce other passages much to 
the same purpose f, if it would not be deemed too great a 
digression from our subject, and too laboured a vindication of a 

* Bishop Bull lias these remarkable words : " Although 1 am no <3oter on 
drcaais, yet I verily believe, that some dreams are monitory above the power of fancy, 
and impressed upon us by some superior influence. For of such dreams we have 
plain and undeniable instances in histor j^ both sacred and profane, and in our own 
age and obsenation. Nor shall I so value the laughter of sceptics, and the scoffs of 
the epicureans, as to be ashamed to profess, that I myself have had some convincing 
experiments of such impressions," Bishop Bull's Ser. and Disc. vol. ii. p. 489, 490. 

f If I mistake not, the same Bishop Keua ib the autljor of a midnijjht hymn, 
concluding with these words : 

" May my ethereal guardian kindly spread 
" His wings, and fyom the tcniiiter screen my hcadj 
" Grant of celestial light some piercing beams, 
" To bless my sleep, and sanctify my dreams!" 

As be certainly was of those exactly parallel lines : 

" Oh may my guardian, while I sleep, 

" Close to my bed his vigils keep j 

" His love angelical instill, 

" Stop all tlie avenues of ill! 

" May he celestial joys rehearse, 

" And; thought to thought, with me converge '.'• 


little incident, of very small importance, when compared with 
most of those, which make up this narrative. 

§ 74. I meet not with any other remarkable event relating 
to Major Gardiner, which can properly be introduced here, till 
the year 1726, when, on, the 1 1th day of July, he was married 
to the Right Hon. the Lady Frances Erskine, daughter to the late 
Earl of Buchan, by whom he had thirteen children, five only 
of which survived their father, two sons and three daughters ; 
whom I cannot mention without the most fervent prayers to 
God for them, that they may always behave Avorthy the honour 
of neing descended from such parents ; and that the God of 
their father, and of their mother, may make them perpetually 
the care of his Providence, and yet more eminently happy in 
the constant and abundant influences of his grace! 

§ 75. As her ladyship is still living (and for the sake of 
her dear offspring and numerous friends, may she long be 
spared) ! I shall not here indulge myself in saying any thing of 
her; except it be, that the Colonel assured me, when he had 
been happy in this intimate relation to her, more than fourteen 
years, that the greatest imperfection, he knew in her character, 
was, *' that she valued and loved him, much more than he 
deserved." And little did he think, in the simplicity of 
heart, with which he spoke this, how high an encomium he was 
making upon her, and how lasting an honour such a testi- 
mony must leave upon her name, long as the memory of it shall 

§ 76. As I do not intend these memoirs a laboured essay on 
the character of Colonel Gardiner, digested under the various 
virtues and graces, which Christianity requires (which would, 1 
, think, be a little too formal for a work of this kind, and would 
give it such an air of panegyric, as would neither suit my de- 
sign, nor be at all likely to render it more useful) ; I shall now 
mention what I have either observed in him, or heard concern- 
ing him, with regard to those domestic relations, which com- 
menced about this time, or quickly after. And here my reader 
■will easily conclude, that the resolution of Joshua was, from 
the first, adopted and declared, " As for me and my house, we 
will serve the Lord." It will naturally be supposed, that as 
soon as he had a house, he erected an altar in it; that the word 
of God was read there, and prayers and praises were constantly 
offered. These were not to be omitted, on account of any 
guest ; for he esteemed it a part of due respect to those that 
remained under his roof, to take it for granted, they woukl 



look upon it as a very bad compliment, to imagine they would 
have been obliged, by neglecting the duties of rehgion on their 
account. As his family increased, he had a minister statedly 
resident in his house, who both discharged the office of a tutor 
to his children, and of a chaplain, and who was always treated 
with a becoming kindness and respect. But in his absence, the 
Colonel himself led the devotions of the family ; and they were 
happy, who had an opportunity of knowing, with how much 
solemnity, fervour, and propriety he did it. 

^ 77. He was constant in attendance upon public worship, 
in which an exemplary care was taken, that the children and 
servants might accompany the heads of the family. And how 
he would have resented the non-attendance of any member of it, 
may easily be conjectured, from a free, but lively passage in a 
letter to one of his intimate friends on an occasion, which it is 
not material to mention : '^ Oh, Sir, had a child of yours under 
my roof but once neglected the public Avorship of God, when he 
was able to attend it, I should have been ready to conclude, he 
had been distracted, and should have thought of shaving his 
head, and confining him in a dark room." 

§ 78. He always treated his lady with a manly tenderness, 
giving her the most natural evidences of a cordial habitual 
esteem, and expressing a most affectionate sympathy Avith her, 
under the infirmities of a very delicate constitution, much 
broken, at least towards the latter years of their marriage, in 
consequence of so frequent pregnancy. He had, at all times, a 
most faithful care of all her interests, and especially those 
relating to the state of religion in her mind. His conversation 
and his letters concurred to cherish those sublime ideas, which 
Christianity suggests ; to promote our submission to the will of 
God, to teach us to centre our happiness in the great Author of 
our being, and to live by faith in the invisible world. These, 
no doubt, Avere frequently the subjects of mutual discourse ; and 
many letters, Avhich her Ladyship has had the goodness to 
communicate to me, are most convincing evidences of the 
degree, in Avhich this noble and most friendly care filled his 
mind in the days of their separation ; days, Avhich so entire a 
mutual affection must have rendered exceeding painful, had 
they not been supported by such exalted sentiments of piety, 
and sAveetened by dailj'^ communion Avith an ever present, and 
eA'er gracious God. 

§ 79. The necessity of being so many months together 
distant from his family, hindered him from many of those con- 
descending labours in cultivating the minds of his children in 


early life, which, to a soul so benevolent, so wise, and so 
zealous, would undoubtedly have afforded a very exquisite 
pleasure. The care of his worthy consort, who well knew, 
that it is one of the brightest parts of a mother's character, and 
one of the most important views, in which the sex can be con- 
sidered, made him the easier under such a circumstance : But 
when he was with them, he failed not to instruct and admonish 
them ; and the constant deep sense, with which he spoke of 
divine things, and the real unaffected indifference, which he 
always showed for what this vain world is most ready to admire, 
were excellent lessons of daily wisdom, Avhich, I hope, they will 
recollect with advantage in every future scene of life. And I 
have seen such hints in his letters relating to them, as plainly 
shew, with how great a weight they lay on his mind, and how 
highly he desired, above all things, that they might be the 
faithful disciples of Christ, and acquainted betimes A\ith the 
unequalled pleasures and blessings of religion. He thought an 
excess of delicacy and of indulgence one of the most dangerous 
faults in education, by which he every where saw great num- 
bers of young people undone: Yet he was solicitous to guard 
against a severity, which might terrify or discourage ; and 
though he endeavoured to take all prudent precautions to 
prevent the commission of faults, yet, when they had been 
committed, and there seemed to be a sense of them, he was 
always ready to make t'le most candid allowances for tlie 
thoughtlessness of unripened j'ears, and tenderly to cherish 
every purpose of a more proper conduct for the time to come. 

§ 80. It was easy to perceive, that the openings of genius 
in the young branches of his family gave him great delight, and, 
that he had a secret ambition to see them excel in what tiiey 
undertook. Yet he was greatly cautious over his heart, lest it 
should be too fondly attached to them ; and as he was one of 
the most eminent proficients I ever knew, in the blessed science 
of resignation to the divine will, so there was no effect of that 
resignation which appeared to me more admirable, than what 
related to the life of his children. An experience, which no 
length of time will ever efface out of my memory, has so sensi- 
bly taught me, how difficult it is, fully to support the Christian 
character here, that I hope my reader will pardon me ( I am 
sureatleast, the heart of wounded parents will), if I dwell a little 
longer upon so interesting a subject. 

§ 81. When he was in Herefordshire, in the month of 
July, in the year 11 Hj it pleased God to visit his little family 

G 2 


with the small-pox. Five days before the date of the letter, I 
am just going to mention, he had received the agreeable news, 
that there was a prospect of the recovery of his son, then under 
that awful visitation; and he had been expressing his thankful- 
ness for it in a letter, which he had sent away, but a few hours 
before he was informed of his death ; the surprise of which, in 
this connection, must naturally be very great. But behold 
(says the reverend and worthy person, from whom I received 
the copy) his truly filial submission to the will of his heavenly 
Father, in the following lines, addressed to the dear partner of 
his affliction : *' Your resignation to the will of God under this 
dispensation gives me more joy, than the death of the child has 
given me sorrow. He, to be sure, is happy ; and we shall go 
to him, though he shall not return to us. Oh ! that we had our 
latter end always in view! — We shall soon follow; and Oh! 
what reason have we to long for that glorious day, when we 
shall get quit of this body of sin and death, under Avhich we 
now groan, and which renders this life so wretched ! ^ desire to 

bless God, that [another of his children] is in so good a way : 

But I have resigned her. We must not choose for ourselves, 
and it is well we must not, for we should often make a very bad 
choice. And therefore it is our wisdom, as well as our duty, 
to leave all with a gracious God, who hath promised, that all 
things shall work together for good to those that love him : And 
he is faithful, that hath promised, who will infallibly perform it, 
if our unbelief does not stand in the way." 

§ 82. The greatest trial of fhis kind, that he ever bore, 
was in the removal of his second son, who was one of the most 
amiable and promising children that has been known. The 
dear little creature was the darling of all, that knew him ; and 
promised very fair, so far as a child could be known by its 
doings, to have been a great ornament to the family, and bles- 
sing to the public. The suddenness of the stroke must, no 
doubt, render it the more painful ; for this beloved child was 
snatched away by an illness, which seized him but about fifteen 
hours before it carried him off. He died in the month of 
October 1733, at near six years old. Their friends were ready 
to fear, that his affectionate parents would be almost over- 
whelmed with such a loss : But the happy father had so firm a 
persuasion, that God had received the dear little one to the 
felicities of the celestial world, and, at the same time, had so 
strong a sense of the divine goodness, in taking one of his 
children, and that too, one who lay so near his heart, so early 
to himself, that the sorrows of nature were quite swallowed up in 


the sublime joys, which these considerations administered. When 
he reflected, what human hfe is ; how many its snares and 
temptations are ; and how frequently, children, who once pro- 
mised very well, are insensibly corrupted, and at length undone; 
with Solomon, he blessed the dead already dead, more than the 
living who were yet alive, and felt an unspeakable pleasure in 
looking after the lovely infant, as safely and delightfully lodged 
in the house of its heavenly Father. Yea, he assured me, that 
his heart was at this time so entirely taken up with these views, 
that he was afraid, they, who did not thoroughly know him, 
might suspect, tliat he was deficient in the natural affections of 
a parent ; Avbile thus borne above the anguish of them, by the 
views, which faith administered to him, and which divine grace 
supported in his soul. 

§ 83. So much did he, on one of the most trying occasions 
of life, manifest of the temper of a glorified saint ; and to such 
happy purposes did he retain those lessons of submission to God, 
and acquiescence in him, which, I remember, he once inculcated 
in a letter, he wrote to a lady of quality, under the apprehen- 
sion of a breach in her family, with which Providence seemed to 
threaten her ; which I am willing to insert here, though a little 
out of what might seem its proper place, rather than entirely to 
omit it. It is dated fromXondon, June 16, 1722, when, sj)eak- 
jng of the dangerous illness of a dear relative, he has these 
Avords : " When my mind runs hither," that is, to God, as its 
refuge and strong defence, as the connection plainly determines 
it, *' I think 1 can bear any thing, the loss of all, the loss of health, 
of relations, on whom I depend, and whom I love, all that is 
dear to me, without repining or murmuring. When I think 
that God orders, disposes, and manages all things according to 
the counsel of his own Avill ; when I think of the extent of his 
Providence, that it reaches to the minutest things ; then, though 
a useful friend or dear relative be snatched away by death, I 
recall myself, and check my thoughts with these considerations : 
Is he not God, from everlasting to everlasting ? And has he not 
promised to be a God to me ? A God in all his attributes ; a God 
in all his persons; a God in all his creatures and providences ? 
And shall I dare to say. What shall I do ? Was not He the infi- 
nite cause of all I met with in the creatures ? and were not they 
the finite effects of his infinite love and khidness ? I have daily 
experienced, that the instrument was, and is, what God makes 
it to be ; and I know, that this God hath the hearts of all men 
in his hands, and the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof. 
If this earth be good for me, I shall have it ; for my Father hath 


it all in possession. If favour in the eyes of men be good for 
me, I shall have it, for the spring of every motion in the heart 

of man is in God's hand. My dear seems now to be 

dying ; but God is all-wise ; and every thmg is done by him for 
the best. Shall I hold back any thing that is his own, M'hen he 
requires it ? No ; God forbid ! When I consider the excellency 
of his glorious attributes, I am satisfied with all his dealings." 
I perceive, by the introduction, and by what follows, that most, 
if not all of this, is a quotation from something written by a 
lady ; but whetherfrom some manuscript or a printed book, whe- 
ther exactly transcribed, or quoted from memory, I cannot de- 
termine : And therefore I thought proper to insert, as the Major, 
(for that was the office he bore then), by thus interweaving it 
with his letter, makes it his own ; and as it seems to express, in 
a very lively manner, the principles, which bore hmi on to a 
conduct so truly great and heroic, in circumstances that have 
overwhelmed many an heart, that could have faced danger and 
death with the greatest intrepidity. 

§ 84. I return now to consider his character in the domestic 
relation of a master, on which I shall not enlarge. It is, however, 
proper to remark, that as his habitual meekness and command 
of his passions prevented indecent sallies of ungoverned anger 
towards those in the lowest state of subjection to him, by which 
some in high life do strangely debase themselves, and lose much 
of their authorit}'^, so the natural greatness of his mind made him 
solicitous to render their inferior stations as easy as he could ; 
and so much the rather, because he considered all the children of 
Adam, as standing npon a level before their great Creator, and 
had also a deeper sense of the dignity and worth of every im- 
mortal soul, how meanly soever it might chance to be lodged, 
than most persons I have known. This engaged him to give his 
servants frequent religious exhortations and instructions, as I 
liave been assured by several, who were so happy as to live with 
liim under that character. One of the first letters, after he en- 
tered on this Christian course, expresses the same disposition ; in 
which, with great tenderness, he recommends a servant, who 
was in a bad state of health, to his mother's care, as he was well 
acquainted with her condescending temper ; mentioning, at the 
same time, the endeavours, he had used to promote his prepara- 
tions for a better world, under an apprehension that he would 
not continue long in this. And we shall have an affecting in- 
stance of the prevalency of the same disposition in the closing 
.scene of his life, and indeed in the last words he ever spoke, 


which expressed his generous solicitude for the safety of a faith- 
ful servant, who was then near him. 

§ 85. As it was a few years after his marriage, that he was 
promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, in whicli he conti- 
nued till he had a regiment of his own, I shall, for the future, 
speak of him by that title ; and may not perhaps find any more 
proper place, in which to mention, what it is proper for me to 
say of his behaviour and conduct as an officer. I shall not here 
enlarge on his bravery in the field, though that was very remark- 
able, as I have heard from others : I say from others, for I never 
heard any thing of that kind from himself ; nor knew, till after 
his death, that lie was present at almost every battle, that was 
foug'ht in Flanders, while the illustrious Duke of Marlborough 
commanded the allied army there. I have also been assured 
from several very credible persons, some of whom were eye- 
witnesses, that at the skirmish with the rebels at Preston in Lan- 
cashire, thirty years before that engagement at the other 
Preston, which deprived us of this gallant guardian of his coun- 
try, he signalized himself very particularly ; for he headed a 
little body of men, I think about twelve, and set fire to the 
barricado of the rebels, in the face of their whole army, while 
they were pouring in their shot, by which, eight of the twelve 
that attended him, fell. This was the last action of the kind in 
which he was engaged, before the long peace, which ensued : 
And who can express, how liappy it was for him, and indeed for 
his country, of which he was ever so generous, and in his latter 
years, so important a friend, that he did not fall then ; when the 
profaneness, which mingled itself Nvith his martial rage, seemed 
to rend the heavens, and shocked some other military gentle- 
men, who were not themselves remarkable for their caution in 
this respect. 

§ 86. But I insist not on things of this nature, which the 
true greatness of his soul would hardly ever permit him to men- 
tion, unless, when it tended to illustrate the divine care over him 
in tliese extremities of danger, and the grace of God, in calling 
him from so abandoned a state. It is well known, that the cha- 
racter of an officer is not only to be approved in the day of com- 
bat. Colonel Gardiner was trul}' sensible, that every day 
brought its duties along with it ; and he was constantly careful, 
that no pretence of amusement, friendship, or even devotion it- 
self, might prevent their being discharged in their season. 

§ 87. I doubt not, but the noble persons, in whose regiment 
he was lieutenant-colonel, will always be ready to bear an 
honourable and grateful testimony to his exemplary dihgence 


and fidelity, in all that related to the care of the troops, over 
which he was set ; whether with regard to the men or the horses. 
He knew, that it is incumbent on those, who have the honour of 
presiding over others, whether in civil, ecclesiastical, or military- 
offices, not to content themselves with doing only so much as 
may preserve them from the reproach of gross and visible neg- 
lect ; but seriously to consider, how much they can possibly do, 
Avithout going out of their proper sphere, to serve the public, 
by the due inspection of those committed to their care. The 
duties of the closet and of the sanctuary were so adjusted, as 
not to interfere with those of the parade, or any other place, 
Avbere the welfare of the regiment called him. On the other 
hand, he was solicitous, nor to suffer these things to interfere 
•with reHgion ; a due attendance to which, he apprehended to 
be the surest method of attaining all desirable success in every 
other interest and concern in life. He therefore abhorred every 
thing, that should look like a contrivance to keep his soldiers 
employed about their horses and their arms at the seasons of 
public worship, an indecency, which I wish there were no room 
to mention : Far from that, he used to have them drawn up just 
before it began; and, from the parade, they Avent off to the 
house of God. He understood the rights of conscience too well 
to impose his own particular profession in religion on others, or 
to use those, who differed from him in the choice of its modes 
the less kindly or respectfully on that account. But as most of 
his own company, and man}- of the rest, chose, when in Eng- 
land, to attend him to the dissenting chapel, he used to march 
them up thither in due time, so as to be there, before the worship 
began. And I must do ihem the justice to say, that, so far as I 
could ever discern, when I have seen them in large numbers be- 
fore me, they have behaved with as much reverence, gravity, 
and decorum, during the time of divine service, as any of their 
fellow- worshippers. 

§ 88. That his remarkable care to maintain good discipline 
among them, of Avhich we shall afterwards speak, might be the 
more effectual, he made himself, on all proper occasions, accessible 
to them, and expressed a great concern for their interests, which 
being so genuine and sincere, naturally discovered itself in a 
variety of instances. I remember, I had once occasion to visit 
one of his drafTOons in his last illness at Harborouojli, and 1 found 
the man upon the borders of eternity ; a circumstance, which, 
as he apprehended it himself, must add some peculiar weight 
and credibilit}'^ to his discourse. And he then told me, in his 
Colonel's absence, that he questioned not, but he should have 


everlastlrifT reason to bless God, on Colonel Gardiner's account • 
for he had been a father to him in all his interests, both tem- 
poral and spiritual. He added, that he had visited him almost 
every day during his illness, with religious advice and instruc- 
tion, as well as taken care, that he should want notliing, that 
nxight conduce to the recovery of his health. And he did not 
speak of this, as the result of any particular attachment to him 
but as the manner, in which he was accustomed to treat those 
under his command. It is no wonder, that this engaged their 
affection to a very great degree. x\nd I doubt not, that if he 
bad fought the fatal battle of Preston-Pans at tlie head of that 
gallant regiment, of which he had the care for so many years 
and which is allowed by most unexceptionable judges to be one 
of the finest in the British service, and consequently in the world, 
be had been supported in a very different manner, and had found 
a much greater number, who would have rejoiced in an op* 
portunity of making their own breasts a barrier in the defence 
of his. 

§ S9. It could not but greatly endear him to his soldiers, 
that so far as preferments lay in his power, or were under his in- 
fluence, they Avere distributed according to merit, which he 
knew to be, as much the dictate of prudence, as of equity. I 
find by one of his letters before me, dated but a few months 
after his happy change, that he was solicited to improve his in- 
terest with the Earl of Stair, in favour of one, whom he judged 
a very worthy person ; and that it had been suggested by an- 
other, who recommended him, that, if he succeeded, he might 
expect some handsome acknowledgment. But he answers with 
some degree of indignation, " Do you imagine, I am to be brib- 
ed to do justice ?" for such, it seems, he esteemed it, to confer 
the favour, which was asked from him, on one so deserving. 
Our enemies had been humbled long ere this, had the same 
maxims every where prevailed: And, if they do not prevail, 
the worthiest men in an army or fleet may be sunk under re- 
peated discouragements, and the basest exalted, to the infamy 
of the public, and perhaps to its ruin. 

§ 90. In the midst of all the gentleness, which Colonel Gar- 
diner exercised towards his soldiers, he made it very apparent, 
that he knew how to reconcile the tenderness of a real, faithful, 
and condescending friend, with the authority of a commander. 
Perhaps, hardly any thing conduced more generally to the 
maintaining of this authority, than the strict decorum and good 
manners, with which he treated even the private gentlemen of 


his regiment ; which has alwaj-s a great efficacy towards keep- 
ing inferiors at a proper distance, and forbids, in the least offen- 
sive manner, familiarities, which degrade the superior, and 
enervate his influence. The calmness and steadiness of his be- 
haviour on all occasions, did also greatly tend to the same pur- 
pose. He knew, how mean a man looks in the transports of 
passion, and would not use so much freedom with any of his 
men, as to fall into such transports before them ; well knowing, 
that persons in the lowest rank of life are aware, how unfit they 
are to govern others, who cannot govern themselves. He was 
also sensible, how necessary it is in all, who preside over othej-s, 
and especially in military officers, to check irregularities, when 
they first begin to appear : And that he might be able to do it, 
he kept a strict inspection over his soldiers; in which view it 
was observed, that as he generally chose to reside among them 
as much as he could, though in circumstances, Avhich sometimes 
occasioned him to deny himself in some interests, which Avere 
very dear to him, so Avhen they were around him, he seldom 
staid long in a place ; but was frequently Avalking the streets, 
and looking into their quarters and stables, as well as reviewing 
and exercising them, himself. It has often been observed, that 
the regiment, of which he was so many years lieutenant colonel, 
was one of the most regular and orderly regiments in the public 
service; so that, perhaps, none of our dragoons wei*e more wel- 
come than they, to the towns, where their character was known. 
Yet no such bodies of men are so blameless in their conduct, 
but something will be found, especially among such consider- 
able numbers, worthy of censure, and sometimes of punishment. 
This, Colonel Gardiner knew how to inflict with a becoming 
resolution, and with all the severity, which he judged necessary: 
A severity, the more awful and impressing, as it was always 
attended \vith meekness ; for he well knew, that when things are 
done in a passion, it seems only an accidental circumstance, 
that they are acts of justice, and that such indecencies greatly 
obstruct the ends of punishment, both, as it relates to reforming 
offenders, and to deterring others from an imitation of their 

§91. One instance of his conduct, which happened at 
Leicester, and was related by the person chiefly concerned, to a 
worth}' friend from whom I had it, I cannot forbear inserting. 
While part of the regiment was encamped in the neighbourhood 
of that place, the colonel went incognito to the camp in the 
middle of the night; for he sometimes lodged at his quarters in 
the town. One of the centinels, then on duty, had abandoned 


liis post, and on being seized, broke out into some oaths, and 
profane execrations against those that discovered him ; a crime, 
of which the Colonel had the greatest abhorrence, and on whicli 
he never failed to animadvert. The man afterwards appeared 
much ashamed, and concerned for what he had done. But the 
Colonel ordered him to be brought early the next morning to 
his own quarters, where he had prepared a piquet, on which he 
appointed him a private sort of penance : And while he was put 
upon it, he discoursed with him seriously and tenderly upon the 
evils and aggravations of his fault; admonished him of the di- 
vine displeasure which he had incurred ; and urged him to argue 
from the pain, which he then felt, how infinitely more dreadful 
it must be, to fall into the hands of the living God, and indeed, 
to meet the terrors of that damnation, which he had been ac- 
customed impiously to call for on himself and his companions. 
The result of this proceeding was, that the offender accepted 
his punishment, not only with submission, but with thankful- 
ness. He went away with a more cordial aftection for his 
Colonel than he ever had before, and spoke of it some years 
after to my friend, in such a manner, that there seemed reason 
to hope, it had been instrumental in producing, not only a 
change in his life, but in his heart. 

§ 92. There cannot, I think, be a more proper place for 
mentioning the great reverence, this excellent officer always ex- 
pressed for the name of the blessed God, and the zeal, with 
which he endeavoured to suppress, and, if possible, to extirpate 
that detestable sin of swearing and cursing, which is every 
where so common, and especially among our military men. He 
often declared his sentiments with respect to this enormity, at 
the head of his regiment; and urged his captains and their 
subalterns, to take the greatest care, that they did not give the 
sanction of their example to that, which by their office they were 
obliged to punish in others. And indeed, his zeal on these oc- 
casions wrought in a very active, and sometimes in a remark- 
ably successful manner, not only among his equals, but some- 
times among his superiors too. An instance of this in Flanders, 
I shall have an opportunity hereafter to produce ; at present, I 
shall only mention his conduct in Scotland a little before his 
death, as 1 have it from a very valuable young minister of that 
country, on whose testimony I can thoroughly depend; and 1 
■wish, it may excite many to imitation. 

§ 93. Tiie commanding officer of the king's forces then 
about Edinburgh, with the other colonels, and several other 

H 2 


gentlemen of rank in tlieir respective regiments, favoured I)iin 
M'ith their company at Bankton, and took a dinner -with him. 
He too -well foresaw what might happen, amidst such a variety 
of tempers and characters : And fearing, lest his conscience 
might have been insnared by a sinful silence, or that, on the 
other hand, he might seem to pass the bounds of decency, and 
infringe upon the laws of hospitality, by animadverting oa 
guests so justly intitled to his regard ; he happily determined on 
the following method of avoiding each of these difficulties- As 
soon as they were come together, he addressed them with a 
great deal of respect, and yet at the same time, with a very 
frank and determined air; and told them, that he had the 
honour in that district to be a justice of the peace, and conse- 
quently that he was sworn to put the laws in execution, and, 
among the rest, those against swearing : That he could not 
execute them upon others with any confidence, or by any 
means approve himself as a man of impartiality and integrity to 
his own heart, if he suffered them to be broken in his presence 
by persons of any rank whatsoever : And that therefore he in- 
treated all the gentlemen, Avho then honoured him with their 
company, that they would please to be upon their guard ; and 
that if any oath or curse should escape them, he hoped, they 
■would consider his legal animadversion upon it, as a regard to 
the duties of his office and the dictates of his conscience, and 
not as owing to any want of deference to them. The com- 
manding officer immediately supported him in this declaration, 
as entirely becoming the station in which he was, assuring 
him, that he would be ready to pay the penalty, if he inad- 
vertently transgressed ; and when Colonel Gardiner on any 
occasion stepped out of the room, he himself undertook to be 
the guardian of the law in his absence ; and as one of the 
inferior officers offended during this time, he informed the 
Colonel, so that the fine was exacted, and given to the poor,* 
with the universal approbation of the company. The story 
spread in the neighbourhood, and was perhaps applauded 
highly by many, who wanted the courage to go and do like- 
wise. But it may be said of the worthy person, of Avhom I 
write, with the utmost propriety, that he feared the face of no 
man living, where the honour of God was concerned. In all 

* It is observable, that the money, which was forfeited on this account by his 
own officers, whom he never spaced, or by any others of his soldiers, who rather 
oho^e to pay, than submit to corporal punishment, was, by the Colonel's order, laid 
by in bank, till some of the private men fell sick; and then was laid out, in pro- 
viding them with proper help and accommodations in tlieir dibtress. 


snch cases he might be justly said, in scripture phrase, to set 
his face like a Jiint ; and I assuredly believe, that, had he been 
in the presence of a sovereign prince, who had been guilty of 
this fault, liis looks at least would have testified his grief and 
surprise; if he had apprehended it unfit to have borne his 
testimony any other way. 

§ 91. Lord Cadogan's regiment of dragoons, during tlie 
years I have mentioned, while he was Lieutenant Colonel of it 
was quartered in a great variety of places, both in England and 
Scotland, from many of which I have letters before me ; par- 
ticularly from Hamilton, Air, Carlisle, Hereford, Maidenhead, 
Leicester, Warwick, Coventry, Stamford, Harborough, Nor- 
tliampton, and several other places, especially in our inland 
parts. The natural consequence was, that the Colonel, whose 
character was on many accounts so ver^^ remiirkabJe, had a 
very extensive acquaintance : And, I believe, I may certainlv 
sa}', that where ever he was known by persons of Avisdom and 
Avorth, he was proportionably respected, and left behind hini 
traces of unaffected devotion, humility, benevolence, and 
zeal for the support and advancement of religion and virtue. 

§ 9.5. The equable tenor of his mind in these respects, is 
illustrated by his letters from several of these places; and 
thougii it is but comparatively a small number of them, whicli 
I have now in my hands, yet they will afford some valuable 
extracts ; which I shall therefore here lay before my reader 
that he may the better judge as to his real character, in par- 
ticulars, of which 1 have already discoursed, or which may 
hereafter occur. 

§ 96. In a letter to his Lady, dated from Carlisle, Nov. 
19, 1733, when he was on his journey to Herefordshire, he 
breathes out his cheerful soul in these words : " I bless God, I 
was never better in my life time ; and I wish I could be so 
happy, as to hear the same of you ; or rather, (in other words), 
to hear that you had obtained an entire trust in God. That 
■would infallibly keep you in perfect ]jeace ; for the God of 
truth hath promised it. Oh, how ought we to be longuin- to 
be with Christ, which is infmitely better than any thing we can 
propose here ! To be there, where all complaints shall be for 
ever banished ; where no mountains shall separate between God 
and our souls: And I hope, it will be some addition to our 
happiness, that you and Lshall be separated no more; but that 
as we have joined in singing the praises of our glorious Re- 
deemer here, we shall sing them in y, much higher key through 


an endless eternit3% Oh eternity, eternity ! Avhat a wonderful 
thought is eternity !" 

§ 97. From Leicester, Aug. 6, 1739, he writes thus to 

his Lady, " Yesterday I was at the Lord's Table, where you 

and the children were not forgotten : But how wonderfully was 

I assisted when I came home, to plead for you all with many 

tears!" And then, speaking of some intimate friends, wha 

Avere impatient, as I suppose by the connection, for hia 

return to them, he takes occasion to observe the necessity 

*' of endeavouring to compose our minds, and to say with the 

Psalmist, My soul, wait thou only upon God." Afterwards, 

speaking of one of his children, of M'hom he heard that he 

made a commendable progress in learning, he expresses his 

satisfaction in it, and adds, " But how nmch greater joy 

would it give me, to hear that he was greatly advanced in the 

school of Christ ? Oh that our children may but be wise to 

salvation ; and may grow in grace, as they do in stature!" 

§ 98. These letters, which to so familiar a friend evidently 
lay open the heart, and shew the ideas and affections which 
Avere lodged deepest there, are sometimes taken up with an 
account of sermons, he had attended, and the impression they 
had made upon his mind. I shall mention one only, as a spe- 
cimen of many more, which was dated from a place called 
Cohorn, April 15. " We had here a minister from Wales, 
who save us two excellent discourses on the love of Christ to us, 
as an argument to engage our love to him. And indeed, next 
to the greatness of his love to us, methinks there is nothing so 
astonishing, as the coldness of our love to him. Oh that he 
would shed abroad his love upon our hearts by his Holy Spirit, 
that ours might be kindled into a flame ! May God enable you 
to trust in him, and then you will be kept in perfect peace!" 

§ 99. We have met with many traces of that habitual 
gratitude to the blessed God, as his heavenly Father and con- 
stant friend, which made his life probably one of the happiest, 
that ever was spent on earth. I cannot omit one more, which 
appears to me the more v/orthy of notice, as being a short turn 
in as hasty a letter, as any 1 remember to have seen, of his, 
■which he wrote from Leicester in June 1739, " 1 am now 
under the deepest sense of the many favours, the Almighty has 
bestowed upon me : surely 3'ou will help me to celebrate the 
praise of our gracious God and kind benefactor." This exube- 
rance of grateful affection, which, while it was almost every 
hour pouring itself forth before God in the most genuine and 
emphaticallanguage, felt itself still, as it were, straitened for 


want of a sufficient vent, and tlicrefove called on others to help 
him with their concurrent praises, appears to me the most 
glorious and happy state, in which a human soul can find itself 
on this side heaven. 

§ 100. Such was the temper which this excellent man ap- 
pears to have carried along with him through such a variety of 
places and circumstances ; and the whole of his deportment was 
suitable to these impressions. Strangers were agreeably struck 
with his first appearance ; there was so much of the Christian, 
the Avell-bred man, and the universal friend in it ; and as they 
came more intimately to know him, they discovered, more and 
more, the uniformity and consistency of his whole temper and 
behaviour ; so that, whether he made only a visit for a few days 
to any place, or continued there for many weeks or months, he 
was always beloved and esteemed, and spoken of with that 
honourable testimony from persons of the most different deno- 
minations and parties, which nothing but true sterling worth, if 
I may be allowed the expression, and that in an eminent degree, 
can secure. 

§. 101. Of the justice of this testimony, which I had so 
often heard from a variety of persons, I myself began to be a 
witness, about the time, when the last mentioned letter was 
dated. In this view, I believe, I shall never forget that happy 
day, June 13, 1739, when I first met him at Leicester. I re- 
member, I happened that day to preach a lecture from Psahn 
cxix. 158. I beheld the transgressors, and was grieved, because 
they kept not thy law. I was large in describing that mixture 
of indignation and grief, strongly expressed by the original 
word there, with which a good man looks on the daring trans- 
gressors of the divine law ; and in tracing the causes of that 
grief, as arising from a regard to the divine honour, and the in- 
terest of a Redeemer, and a compassionate concern for the 
misery, such offenders bring on themselves, and for the mischief, 
they do to the world about them. I little thought, how exactly 
I was drawing Colonel Gardiner's character under each of those 
heads ; and I have often reflected upon it as a happy providence, 
which opened a much speedier way, than I could have expected, 
to the breast of one of the most amiable and useful friends, 
which I ever expect to find upon earth. We afterwards sung a 
hymn, which brought over agam some of the leading thou'Thts 
in the sermon, and struck him so strongly, that on obtaining a 
copy of it, he committed it to his memory, and used to repeat 
it with so forcible an accent, as shewed, how much every line 
expressed of his very soul. In this view, the reader will pardon 


my inserting It ; especially, as I know not, when I may get time 
to publish a volume of these serious, though artless composures, 
which I sent him in manuscript some years ago, and to which 
I have since made very large additions : 

Arise, my tenderest thoughts, arlsej 
To torrents melt my streaming eyes! 
And thou, my heart, with anguish feel 
Those evils which thou can'st not heal ! 

See human nature sunk in shame! 
See scandals pour'd on Jesus' name ! 
'J'he Father wounded through the Son ! 
Ihe world abus'd, the soul undone ! 

See the short course of vain delight 
Closing in everlasting night ! 
In flames that no abatement know, 
'ihe briny tears for ever flow. 

My God, I feel the mournful scene ; 
]VIy bowels yearn o'er dying men : 
And fain my pity would reclaim, 
And snatch the fire-brands from the flame. 

But feeble my compassion proves. 
And can but weep where most it loves: 
'J'hine own all-saving arm employ. 
And turn these drops of grief to joy ! 

§ 102. The Colonel, immediately after the conclusion of 
the service, met me in the vestry, and embraced me in the most 
obliging and affectionate manner, as if there had been a long 
friendship between us ; assured me, that he had, for some years, 
been intimately acquainted with my writings ; and desired, 
that we might concert measures for spending some hours to- 
gether, before I left the town. I was so happy, as to be able to 
secure an opportunity of doing it : And I must le^ve it upon 
record, that I cannot recollect, I was ever equally edified by any 
conversation, I remember to have enjoyed. We passed that 
evening and the next morning together ; and it is impossible for 
me to describe the impression, which the interview left upon my 
heart. I rode alone all the remainder of the day ; and it was 
my unspeakable happiness, that I was alone, since I could be no 
longer with him ; for I can hardly conceive, what other com- 
pany would not then have been an incumbrance. The views, 
■which he gave me, even then, (for he began to repose a most ob- 
liging confidence in me, though he concealed some of the most 
extraordinary circumstances of the methods, by which he had 
brt-n recovered to God and happiness), with those cordial sen- 


timents of evangelical piety and extensive goodness, which he 
poured out into my bosom with so endearing a freedom, fired 
my very soul, and I hope, I may truly say, (what I Avish and 
pray, many of my readers may also adopt for themselves) that 
I glorified God in him. Our epistolary correspondence imme- 
diately commenced upon m}'^ return ; and though, through the 
multiplicity of business on both sides, it suffered many inter- 
ruptions, it was in some degree the blessing of all the follow- 
ing years of my life, till he fell by those unreasonable and 
■wicked men, who had it in their hearts, with him, to have 
destroyed all our glory, defence, and happiness. 

§ 103. The first letter, I received from* him, was so remark- 
able, that some persons of eminent piety, to whom I communi- 
cated it, would not be content without copying it out, or making 
some extracts from it. I persuade myself, that my devout 
reader will not be displeased, that I insert the greatest part 
of it here, especially, as it serves to illustrate the affectionate 
sense, which he had of the divine goodness in his conversion, 
though more than twenty years had passed, since that memo- 
rable event happened. Having mentioned my ever dear and 
honoured friend. Dr. Isaac Watts, on an occasion, which 1 
hinted at above (§70.) he adds, " I have been in pain these 
several years, lest that excellent person, that sweet singer in 
our Israel, should have been called to heaven, before I had 
an opportunity of letting him know, how much his works 
have been blessed to me, and of course, of returning him my 
hearty thanks : For though it is owing to the operation of the 
Blessed Spirit, that any thing works effectually upon our 
hearts, yet if we are not thankful to the instrument, which 
God is pleased to make use of, whom we do see, how shall 
we be thankful to the Almighty, whom we have not seen ? I de- 
sire to bless God for the good news of his recovery, and en- 
treat you to tell him, that, although I cannot keep pace with 
him here, in celebrating the high praises of our glorious Re- 
deemer, which is the greatest grief of my heart, yet I am 
persuaded, that when 1 join the glorious company above, 
where there will be no drawbacks, none will outsing me there, 
because I shall not find any, that Avill be more indebted to the 
wonderful riches of divine grace, than I. 

" Give me a place at thy saints' feet, 
" Oi some fall li angel's vacant seat ; 
" I'll strive to sing as loud as they, 
" Who sit above in brighter day. 



*' I know, it is natural for every one, who has felt the Al- 
mighty power, which raised our glorious Redeemer from the 
grave, to believe his case singular : But I have made every one 
in this respect submit, as soon as he has heard my story. And 
if you seemed so surprised at the account, which I gave you, 
what will you be Avhen you hear it all ? 

" Oh ! if I had an angel's voice, 
" And could be heard from pole to pole ; 

*' I would to all the listening world 
" Proclaim thy goodness to my soul." 

He then concludes, after some expressions of endearment, (which, 
with whatever pleasure I review them, 1 must not here insert) j 
*' If you knew, what a natural aversion I have to writing, you 
would be astonished at the length of this letter, which is, I be- 
lieve, the longest I ever Avrote : But my heart warms, when I 
write to you, which makes my pen move the easier, I hope, 
it will please our gracious God long to preserve you a blessed 
instrument in his hand, of doing great good in the church of 
Christ ; and that you may always enjoy a thriving soul in a 
healthful body, shall be the continual prayer of," &c. 

§ 104. As our intimacy grew, our mutual affection increased ; 
and " my dearest friend," was the form of address, with which 
most of his epistles of the last years were begun and ended. 
Many of them are hlled up with his sentiments of those writings, 
which I published during these jears, which he read with great 
attention, and of which he speaks in terms, which it becomes me 
to suppress, and to impute in a considerable degree to the kind 
prejudices of so endeared a friendship. He gives me repeated 
assurances, " that he was daily mindful of me in his pra3'ers ;" 
a circumstance, which I cannot recollect without the greatest 
thankfulness ; the loss of which I should more deepl}* lament, 
did I not hope that the happy effect of these prayers might still 
continue, and might run into all my remaining days. 

§ 105. It might be a pleasure to me, to make several ex- 
tracts from many others of his letters : But it is a pleasure, 
Avhich I ought to suppress, and rather to reflect with unfeigned 
humility, how unworthy I was of such regards from such a per- 
son, and of that divine goodness, which gave me such a friend 
in him. I shall therefore only add two general remarks, which 
offer themselves from several of his letters. The one is, that 
there is in some of them, as our freedom increased, an agreea- 
ble vein of humour and pleasantry ; which shews, how easy re- 
ligion sat upon him, and, how far he was from placing any part 


of it in a gloomy melancholy, or stiff formality. The other is, 
that he frequently refers to domestic circumstances, such as the 
illness or recovery of my children, &c. Avhich I am surprised, 
how a man of his extensive and important business could so 
distinctly bear upon his mind. But his memor}; was good, and 
his heart was yet better ; and his friendship was such, that no- 
thing which sensibly affected the heart of one, Aviiom he ho- 
noured with it, left his own but slightly touched. I have all 
imaginable reason to believe, that, in many instances, his pray- 
ers were not only offered for us in general terms, but varied, as 
our particular situation required. Many quotations might ve- 
rify this ; but I decline troubling the reader with an enumera- 
tion of passages, in which it was only the abundance of friendly 
sympathy, that gave this truly great, as well as good man, so 
cordial a concern, 

§ 106. After this correspondence, carried on for the space 
of about three years, and some interviews, which we had enjoyed 
at different places, he came to spend some time with us at 
Northampton, and brought with him his lady and his two eldest 
children. I had here an opportunity of taking a much nearer 
view of his character, and surveying it in a much greater variety 
of lights than before ; and my esteem for him increased, in pro- 
portion to these opportunities. What I have wrote above, 
with respect to his conduct in relative life, was in a great mea- 
sure drawn from what I now saw : And I shall mention here 
some other points in his behaviour, which particularly struck 
my mind ; and likewise shall touch on his sentiments on some 
topics of importance, which he freely communicated to me, and 
which I remarked on account of that wisdom and propriety, 
Avhich I apprehended in them. 

^ 107. There was nothing more openly observable in Colo- 
nel Gardiner, than tlie exemplary gravity, composure, and re- 
verence, with which he attended public worship. Copious as 
he was in his secret devotions, before he engaged in it, he al- 
ways began them so early, as not to be retarded by them, when 
he should resort to the house of God. He, and all his soldiers, who 
chose to worship with him, were generally there, as I have alrea- 
dy hinted, before the service began, that the entrance of so many 
of them at once might not disturb the congregation already en- 
gaged in devotion, and that there might be the better opportu- 
nity for bringing the mind to a becoming attention, and prepar- 
ing- it for converse with the divine Being. While acts of wor- 
ship were going on, whether of prayer or singing, he always 

I 2 


Stood up ; and whatever regard he might have for persons, who 
passed by him at that time, though it were to come into the same 
pew, he never paid any compUment to them : And often has 
he expressed his wonder at the indecorum of breaking off our 
address to God, to bow to a fellow creature, which he thought 
a much greater indecency, than it would be, on a like occasion 
and circumstance, to interrupt an address to our prince. Dur- 
ing the time of preaching, his eye was commonly fixed upon 
the minister, though sometimes turned round upon the auditory, 
•where, if he observed any to trifle, it filled him Avith just indig- 
nation. And I have known instances, in which, upon making 
the remark, he has communicated it to some friend of the per- 
sons, who were guilty of it, that proper application might be 
made to prevent it for the time to come. 

§ 108. A more devout communicant at the table of the 
Lord has, perhaps, seldom been any where known. Often have 
I had the pleasure to see that manly countenance softened to all 
the marks of humiliation and contrition, on this occasion ; and 
to discern, in spite of all his efforts to conceal them, streams of 
tears flowing down from his eyes, while he has been directing 
them to those memorials of his Redeemer's love. And some, 
who have conversed intimately with him, after he came from 
that ordinance, have observed a visible abstraction from sur- 
rounding objects, by which there seemed reason to imagine, 
that his soul was wrapped up in holy contemplation. And I par- 
ticularly remember, that when we had once spent great part of 
the following Monday in riding together, he made an apology 
to rae for being so absent, as he seemed, by telling me, " that 
his heart was flown upward, before he was aware, to him, whom 
not having seen, he loved*; and that he was rejoicing in him 
•with such unspeakable joy, that he could not hold it down to 

§ 109. In all the offices of friendship he was remarkably 
ready, and had a most sweet and engaging manner of perform- 
ing them, which greatly heightened the obligations he conferred. 
He seemed not to set any high value upon any benefit he be- 
stowed ; but did it without the least parade, as a thing, which 
in those circumstances, came of course, where he had professed 
love and respect; which he was not over forward to do, thougli 
he treated strangers and those, who were most his inferiors very 
courteously, and always seemed, because he in truth always was, 
glad of any opportunity of doing them good. 

* N, P. This alluded to the subject of the sermon, the day before, which was 
1 Pet. i. 8. 


§ 110. He was particularly zealoiis in vindicating the re- 
putation of his friends in their absence ; and I cannot 
recollect, that I had ever an opportunity of observing this im- 
mediately, as I do not know that I ever was present witii him, 
when any ill was spoken of others at all ; yet by what I have 
heard him say, with relation to attempts to injure the character 
of worthy and useful men, I have reason to believe, that no 
man living was more sensible of the baseness and infamy, as well 
as the cruelty of such a conduct. He knew and despised the 
low principles of resentment for unreasonable expectations dis- 
appointed, of personal attachment to men of some crossing in- 
terests, of envy, and of party-zeal , from whence such a conduct 
often proceeds; and was particularly offended, when he found 
it, as he frequently did, in persons that set up for the greatest 
patrons of liberty, virtue, and candour. He looked upon the 
murderers of reputation and usefulness, as some of the vilest 
pests of society ; and plainly shewed, on every proper occasion, 
that he thought it the part of a generous, benevolent, and 
courageous man, to exert himself in tracing and hunting down 
the slander, that tlie autliors or abettors of it might be less ca- 
pable of mischief for the future. 

§ 111. The most plausible objection, that lever heard to 
Colonel Gardiner's character, is, that he was too much attached 
to some religious principles, established indeed in the churches 
both of England and Scotland, but which have, of late years, 
been much disputed, and from which, it is at least, generally 
supposed, not a few in both have thought proper to depart; 
whatever expedients they may have found to quiet their con- 
sciences, in subscribing those formularies, in whicli they are 
plainly taught. His zeal was especially apparent in opposition 
to those doctrines, which seemed to derogate from the divine 
honours of the Son, and Spirit of God, and from the freedom of 
divine grace, or the reality and necessity of its operations in the 
conversion and salvation of sinners. 

§ 112. With relation to these, I must observe, that it was 
his most stedfast persuasion, that all those notions, which repre- 
sent our blessed Redeemer and the Holy Spirit, as mere crea- 
tures, or which set aside the atonement of the former, or the 
influence of the latter, do sap the very foundation of Christianity, 
by rejecting the most glorious doctrines peculiar to it. He had 
attentively observed, what indeed is too obvious, the unhappy 
influence, which the denial of these principles often has on the 
character of ministers, and on their success ; and was persuaded, 
that an attempt to substitute that mutilated form of Christianity, 


which remains, when these essentials of it are taken away, has 
proved one of the most successful methods, which the great 
enemy of souls has ever taken, in these latter days, to lead 
men, by insensible, degrees, into deism, vice, and perdition. 
He also sagaciously observed the artful manner, in which 
obnoxious tenets are often maintained or insinuated, with 
all that mixture of zeal and address, Avith which they are pro- 
pagated in the world, even by those, who had most solemnly 
professed to believe, and engaged to teach the contrary : And, 
as he really apprehended, that the glory of God and the salva- 
tion of souls was concerned, his piety and charity made him 
eager and strenuous in opposing, what ^e judged to be errors of 
so pernicious a nature. Yet I must declare, that according to 
what I have known of him (and I believe, he opened his heart on 
these topics to me with as much freedom, as to any man living), 
he was not ready, upon light suspicions, to charge tenets, 
which he thought so pernicious, on any, especially, where he 
saw the appearances of a good temper and life, which he always 
reverenced and loved in persons of all sentiments and pro- 
fessions. He severely condemned causeless jealousies, and 
evil surmisings of every kind ; and extended that charity in 
this respect, both to clergy, and laity, which good Bishop 
Burnet was so ready, according to his own account, to limit to 
the latter, " of believing every man good, till he knew him to 
be bad, and his notions right, till he knew them wrong." He 
could not but be very sensible of the unhappy consequences, 
which may follow on attacking the characters of men, especially 
of those, who are ministers of the gospel : And if, through a 
mixture of human frailty, from Avhich the best of men, in the 
best of their meanings and intentions, are not entirely free, he 
has ever, in the warmth of his heart, dropped a word, which 
might be injurious to any on that account, which I believe very 
seldom happened, he would gladly retract it on better informa- 
tion ; which was perfectly agreeable to that honest and generous 
frankness of temper, in which I never knew any man, who ex- 
ceeded him. 

§ 113. On the whole, it was indeed his deliberate judg- 
ment, that the Arian, Socinian, and Pelagian doctrines were 
highly dishonourable to God, and dangerous to the souls of 
men ; and that it was the duty of private Christians, to be 
greatly on their guard against those ministers, by whom they 
are entertained, lest their minds should be corrupted from the 
simplicity, that is in Christ. Yet he sincerely abhorred the 
thought of persecution for conscience sake, of the absurdity and 


iniquity of which in all its kinds and degrees, he had as deep 
and rational a conviction, as any man I could name. And 
indeed the generosity of his heroic heart could hardly bear to 
think, that those glorious truths, which he so cordially loved, 
and which he assuredly believed to be capable of such fair 
support, both from reason and the word of God, should be 
disgraced by methods of defence and propagation, common to 
the most impious and ridiculous falsehoods. Nor did he by any 
means approve of passionate and furious ways of vindicating 
the most vital and important doctrines of the gospel : For he 
knew, that, to maintain the most benevolent religion in the 
world by such malevolent and infernal methods, was destroy- 
ing the end, to accomplish, the means ; and that it was as 
impossible, that true Christianity should be supported thus, as 
it is, that a man should long be nourished by eating his own 
flesh. To display the genuine fruits of Christianity in a good 
life, to be ready to plead with meekness and sweetness for the 
doctrines, it teaches, and to labour, by every ojffice of hu- 
manity and goodness, to gain upon them that oppose it, were 
the weapons, with which this good soldier of Jesus Christ 
faithfully fought the battles of the Lord. These weapons will 
always be victorious in his cause; and they who have recourse 
to others of a different temperature, how strong soever they 
may seem, and how sharp soever they may really be, will find, 
thev break in their hands, when they exert them most furiously, 
and are much more likely to wound themselves, than to con- 
quer the enemies they oppose. 

§ 114. But while I am speaking of Colonel Gardiner's 
charity in this respect, I must not omit that of another kind, 
which has indeed engrossed the name of charity much more 
than it ought, excellent as it is ; I mean almsgiving, for which 
he was very remarkable. I have often wondered how he was 
able to do so many generous things this way : But his frugality 
fed the spring. He made no pleasurable expence on himself; 
and was contented with a very decent appearance in his family, 
without affectmg such an air of grandeur, as could not have been 
supported without sacrificing to it satisfactions far nobler, and 
to a temper like his, far more delightful. The lively and tender 
feelings of his heart in favour of the distressed and afflicted, 
made it a self-indulgence to him to relieve them ; and the deep 
conviction, he had of the vain and transitory nature of the enjoy- 
ments of this world, together with the sublime view, he had of 
another, engaged him to dispense his bounties with a very 
liberal hand, and even to seek out proper objects of them : 


And above all, his sincere and ardent love to the Lord Jesus 
Christ engaged him to feel, with a true sympathy, the concerns 
of his poor members. In consequence of this, he honoured 
several of his friends with commissions for the relief of the 
poor ; and particularly, with relation to some under my pastoral 
care, he referred it to my discretion, to supply them with 
what I should judge expedient ; and frequently pressed me in 
his letters to be sure not to let them want. And where persons 
standing in need of his charity happened, as they often did, to 
be persons of remarkably religious dispositions, it was easy to 
perceive, that he not only loved, but honoured them, and 
really esteemed it an honour, which Providence conferred upon 
him, that he should be made, as it were, the almoner of God 
for the relief of such. 

§ ) 15. I cannot forbear relating a little story here, which, 
■when the Colonel himself heard it, gave him such exquisite 
pleasure, that I hope it will be acceptable to several of my 
readers. There was in a village about three miles from Nor- 
thampton, and in a family which of all others near me was 
afterwards most indebted to him (though he had never then 
seen any member of it), an aged, and poor, but eminently 
good woman, who had, with great difficulty, in the exercise 
of much faith and patience, diligence and humility, made shift 
to educate a large family of children, after the death of her hus- 
band, without being chargeable to the parish ; which, as it was 
quite beyond her hope, she often spoke of with great delight. 
At length, when worn out with age and infirmities, she lay 
upon her dying bed, she did in a most lively and affecting 
manner express her hope and joy in the Anews of approaching 
glory. Yet, amidst all the triumph of such a prospect, there 
was one remaining care and distress which lay heavy on her 
mind ; which was, that as her journey and her stock of provi- 
sions were both ended together, she feared that she must either 
be buried at the parish expencc, or leave her most dutiful and 
affectionate daughters the house stripped of some of the few 
moveables which remained in it, to perform the last office of 
duty to her, which, she had reason to believe they would do. 
While she was combating with this only remaining anxiety, I 
happened, though I knew not the extremitv of her illness, to 
come in, and to bring with me a guinea, which the generous 
Colonel had sent by a special message, on hearing the character 
of the family, for its relief. A present like this (probably the 
most considerable they had ever received in their lives), coming 
in this manner from an entire strann-er, at such a crisis of time, 


threw my dying friend (for such, amidst all her poverty, I 
rejoiced to call lier), into a perfect transport of joy. She 
esteemed it as a singular favour of Providence, sent to her in her 
last moments, as a token for good, and greeted it as a special 
mark of that loving kindness of God, which should attend her for 
ever. She woidd therefore be raised up in her bed, that she 
might bless God for it upon her knees, and with her last breath 
pray for her kind and generous benefactor, and for liim who 
had been the instrument of directing his bounty into this 
channel. After which she soon expired, with such tranquility 
and sweetness, as could not but most sensibly delight all, who 
beheld her, and occasioned many, who knew the circumstances, 
to glorify God on her behalf. 

§ 116. The Colonel's last residence at Northampton was 
in .June and .luly 1742, when Lord Cadogan's regiment of 
dragoons was quartered here : And I cannot but observe, that 
wherever that regiment came, it was remarkable not only for 
the fine appearance it made, and for the exactness, with which 
it performed its various exercises (of which it had about this 
time the honour to receive the most illustrious testimonials), but 
also for the great sobriety and regularity of the soldiers. Many 
of the officers copied after the excellent pattern, which they had 
daily before their eyes; and a considerable number of the 
private men seemed to be persons not only of strict virtue, but 
of serious piety. And I doubt not but they found their abim- 
dant account in it, not only in the serenity and happiness of 
their own minds, which is beyond comparison the most impor- 
tant consideration ; but also, in some degree, in the obliging 
and respectful treatment which they generally met with in their 
quarters. And 1 mention this, because I am persuaded, that if 
gentlemen of their profession knew, and would reflect, how 
much more comfortable they make their own quarters, by a 
sober, orderly and obliging conduct, thev would be regular 
out of mere self-love, if they were not influenced, as I heartily 
wish they may always be, by a nobler principle. 

§ 1 17. Towards the latter end of this year he embarked for 
Flanders, and spent some considerable time with the regiment 
at Ghent, where he much regretted the want of those religious 
ordinances and opportunities which had made his other abodes 
delightful. But as he had made so eminent a progress in that 
divine life, Avhich they are all intended to promote, he could not 
be unactive in the cause of God. I have now before me a letter 
dated from thence, October 16, 1742, in which he writes, 



" As for me, I am indeed in a dry and barren land, M-here no 
Water is* Rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because no- 
thing is to be heard in our Sodom, but blaspheming the name 
of my God ; and I am not honoured as the instrument of doing 
any great service. It is true, I have reformed six or seven 
lield-ofRcers of sweanng. I dine every day with them, and 
have entered them into a voluntary contract, to pay a shilling 
to the poor for every oath ; and it is wonderful to observe the 
effect it has had already. One of them told me this day at 
dinner, that it had really such an influence upon him, that 
being at cards last night, when another officer fell a swearing, 
he was not able to bear it, but rose up and left the company. 
So you see, restraints at first arising from a low principle may 
improve into something better." 

§ 1 18. During his abode here, he had a great deal of busi- 
ness upon his hands ; and had also, in some marches, the care 
of more regiments than his own : And it has been very delight- 
ful to me to observe, Avhat a degree of converse with heaven, 
and the God of it, he maintained, amidst these scenes of hurry 
and fatigue ; of which the reader may find a remarkable spe- 
cimen in the following letter, dated from Lichtwick, in the 
beginning of April, 1743, which was one of the last, 1 received 
from him M'hile abroad, and begins with these words : " Yes- 
terday being the Lord's day, at six in the morning, I had the 
pleasure of receiving yours at Nortonick ; and it proved a 
sabbath-day's blessing to me. Some time before it reached 
tne," (from whence, by the way, it may be observed, that his 
former custom of rising so early to his devotions was still 
retained,) " I had been wrestling with God with many tears; 
and v.'hen I had read it, I returned to my knees again, to give 
heartv thanks to him, for all his goodness to you and yours, and 
also to my self, in that he hath been pleased to stir up so 
many who are dear to him, to be mindful of me at the throne 
of grace." And then, after the mention of some other parti- 
culars, he adds; *' Blessed, and adored forever, be the holy 
name of my heavenly Father, who holds my soul in life, and 
my body in perfect health ! Were I to recount his mercy and 
goodness to me even in the midst of all these hurries, I should 
never have done. — I hope, your Master will still encourage 
you in his work, and make you a blessing to many. My 
dearest friend, I am much more yours, than I can express, and 
shall remain so, while I am J. G." 

§ 119. In this correspondence I had a farther opportunity 
of discovering that humble resignation to the -will of God, 


which made so amiable a part of his character, and of which I 
had before seen so many instances. He speaks, in the letter 
from which I have just been giving an extract, of the hope, he 
had expressed in a former, of seeing us again that winter ; and 
he adds, " To be sure, it would have been a great pleasure to 
me : But we poor mortals form projects, and the Almighty- 
Ruler of the universe disposes of all, as he pleases. A great 
many of us were getting ready for our return to England, when 
we received an order to march towards Frankfort, to the great 
surprise of the whole army, neither can any of us comprehend 
what we are to do there ; for there is no enemy in that country, 
the French army being marched into Bavaria, where I am sure 
we cannot follow them, But it is the will of the Lord ; and 
his will be done ! I desire to bless and praise my heavenly Father, 
that I am entirely resigned to it. It is no matter where I go, 
or what becomes of me, so that God may be glorified, in my 
life, or my death, I should rejoice much to hear, that all my 
friends were equally resigned." 

§ ] 20. The mention of this article reminds me of another, 
relating to the views which he had of obtaining a regiment for 
himself. He endeavoured to deserve it by the most faithful ser- 
vices ; some of them, indeed, beyond what the strength of 
his constitution would well bear : For the weather in some of 
these marches proved exceeding bad, and yet he would be 
always at the head of his people, that he might look to every 
thing that concerned them, with the exactest care. This 
obliged him to neglect the beginnings of a feverish illness ; the 
Iiatural consequence of which was, that it grew very formida- 
ble, forced a long confinement upon him, and gave animal na- 
ture a shock, which it never recovered. 

§ 121. In the mean time, as he had the promise of a regi-? 
ment, before he quitted England, his friends were continually 
expecting an occasion of congratulating him, on having re- 
peived the command of one. But still they were disappointed ; 
and, on some of them, the disappointment seemed to sit heavy. 
As for the Colonel himself, ho seemed quite easy about it ; and, 
fippeared much greater in that easy situation of mind, than the 
highest military honours and preferments could have made him. 
With great pleasure do I, at this moment, recollect the un- 
affected serenity, and even indifference, with w^hich he expresses 
himself, upon this occasion, in a letter to me, dated about the 
beginning of April, 1743. *' The disappointment of a regi- 
ment is notiung to n^e ; for I am satisfied, that ha4 it been for 

K 2 



God's glon% I should have had it ; and I should have been sorry 
to have had it on any other terms. ]\Iy heavenly Father has 
bestowed upon me infinitely more, than if He had made me 
emperor of the Avhole world." 

§ 122. I find several parallel expressions in other letters; 
and those to his Ladv, about the same time, were just in the 
same strain. In an extract from one, which was written from 
Aix la Chapelle, April 21, the same year, I meet with these 
words : " People here imagine, I must be sadly troubled, that I 
have not got a regiment, (for six, out of seven vacant, are 
now disposed of;) but they are strangely mistaken, for it has 
given me no sort of trouble. My heavenly Father knows Avhat 
IS best lor me; and blessed, and for ever adored be his name. 
He has given me an entire resignation to his will: Besides, I 
don't know, that ever 1 met with any disappointment, since I 
was a Christian, but it pleased God to discover to me, that, it 
V'as plainlj' for my advantage, by bestowing something better 
upon me afterwards : Many instances of which I am able to pro- 
duce ; and therefore 1 should be the greatest of monsters, if I 
did not trust in him." 

§ 123. I should be gnilty of a great omission, if I were not 
to add, how remarkably the event corresponded with his faith, 
on this occasion. For, whereas, he had no intimation, or ex- 
pectation of any thing, more than a regiment of foot, his Ma- 
jesty Mas pleased, out of his great goodness, to give him a regi- 
ment of dragoons, which was then quartered just in his own 
neighbourhood. And it is properly remarked, by the reverend 
and worthy person, through whose hand, this letter was trans- 
mitted to me, that when the Colonel thus expressed himself, he 
could have no prospect of what he afterwards so soon obtained ; 
as general Bland's regiment, to which he was advanced, was 
only vacant on the 19th of April, that is, two days before the 
date of this letter, when it was impossible, he should have any 
notice of that vacancy. And, it also deserves observation, that 
some few days after the Colonel was thus unexpectedly pro- 
moted to the command of these drajroons, Lord Cornwallis's 
regiment of foot, then in Flanders, became vacant : Now, had 
this happened, before his promotion to General Bland's, Colo- 
nel Gardiner, in all probability, would only have had that regi- 
ment of foot, and so have continued in Flandei's. When the 
affair was issued, he informs Lady Frances of it, in a letter, 
dated from a village near Frankfort, May 3, in which he refers 
to his former of the 21st of April, observing, how remarkably 
it was verified, " in God's haying given him," (for so he ex- 


presses it, agreeably to the views he continually maintained of 
the universal agenc}' of divine Providence,) " what he had no 
expectation of, and what was so much better, than that which 
be had missed, a regiment of dragoons quartered at his own 

§ 124. It appeared to him, that by this remarkable event, 
Providence called him home. Accordingly, though he had other 
preferments offered him in the army, he chose to return ; and 
I believe, the more willingly, as he did not expect, there would 
have been any action. Just at this time, it pleased God to 
give him an awful instance of the imcertainty of human pros- 
pects, and enjoyments, by that violent fever, which seized him 
at Ghent, in his Avay to England ; and perhaps, the more se- 
verely, for the efforts he made to push on his journey, tiiough 
he had, for some days, been much indisposed. It was, I think, 
one of the first fits of severe illness he had ever met with ; and he 
■was ready to look upon it, as a sudden call into eternity : But 
it gave him no painful ;darm in that view. He committed him- 
self to the God of his life, and, in a few weeks, he was so well 
recovered, as to be capable of pursuing his journey, though 
not without difhculty : And, I cannot but think, it might have 
conduced much to a more perfect recovery than he ever at- 
tained, to have allowed himself a longer repose, in order to 
recruit his exhausted strength and spirits. But, there was an 
activity in his temper, not easy to be restrained ; and it was 
now stimulated, not only by a desire of seeing his friends, but 
of being with his regiment ; that he might omit nothing in his 
power, to regulate their morals, and their discipline, and to 
form them for public service. . Accordingly, he passed through 
London, about the middle of June, 1743, where he had the ho- 
nour of waiting on their Royal Highnesses the Prince and 
Princess of Wales, and of receiving, from both, the most 
obliging tokens of favour and esteem. He arrived at North- 
ampton, on Monday the 21st of June, and spent part of three 
days here. But the great pleasure which his return and prefer- 
ment gave us, was much abated, by observing his countenance so 
sadly altered, and the many marks of languor, and remaining 
disorder, which evidently appeared ; so that he really looked 
ten years older, than he had done ten months before. I had, 
hoAvever, a satisfaction, sufficient to counter-balance much of 
the concern, which this alteration gave me, in a renewed oppor- 
tunity of observing, indeed more sensibly than ever, in how 
remarkable a degree he was dead to the enjoyments and views 
of this mortal life, ^^'hen I congratulated him on the favour- 


able appearances of Providence for him in the late event, he 
briefly told me the remarkable circumstances that attended it, 
with the most genuine impressions of gratitude to God for them ; 
but added, " that as his account was increased with his income, 
power, and influence, and his cares Avere proportionably in- 
creased too, it was, as to his own personal concern, much the 
same to him, whether he had remained in his former station, or 
been elevated to this; but, that if God, should by this means 
honour him, as an instrument of doing more good than he could 
otherwise have done, he should rejoice in it." 

§ 125. I perceived, that, the near views he had taken of 
eternity, in the illness, from which he was then so imperfectly 
recovered, had not in the least alarmed him ; but, that he would 
have been entirely willing, had such been the determination of 
God, to have been cut short in a foreign land, \vithout any 
earthly friend near him, and in the midst of a journey, under-i 
taken with hopes and prospects so pleasing to nature ; wdiich 
appeared to me no inconsiderable evidence of the strength of 
his faith. But we shall wonder the less at this extraordinary 
resignation, if we consider the joyful and assured prospect, 
which he had of an happiness infinitely superior beyond the 
grave ; of which, that worthy minister of the church of Scot- 
land, who had an opportunity of conversing with him quickly 
after his return, and having the memorable story of his conver- 
sion from his own mouth, as I have hinted above, writes thus in 
his letter to me, dated Jan. 14, 1746-7. *' When he came to 
review his regiment, at Linlithgow, in summer 1743, after hav- 
ing given me the wonderful story as above, he concluded in 
words to this purpose :■ — Let mo die, whenever it shall please 
God, or wherever it shall be, I am sure, I shall go to the man- 
sions of eternal glory, and enjoy my God, aiid my Redeemer, in 
heaven for ever." 

§ 126. While he was Math us at this time, he appeared 
deeply affected with the sad state of things as to religion and 
morals, and seemed to apprehend, that the rod of God was hang- 
ing over so sinful a nation. He observed a great deal of disaf-r 
fection, Avhich the enemies of the government had, by a variety 
of artifices, been raising in Scotland for some years: And the 
number of Jacobites there, together with the defenceless state in 
which our island then was, with respect to the number of its 
forces at home, of which he spoke at once with great concern 
and astonishment, led him to expect an invasion from France, 
and an attempt in favour of the Pretender, much sooner than it 
happened. I have heard hini often say, many years before it 


fame so near being accomplished, " that a few thousands might 
have a fair chance for marching from Edinburgh to London un- 
controlled, and throw the whole kingdom into an astonislunent.'* 
And 1 have great reason to believe, that this was one main con- 
sideration, which engaged him to make such haste to his regi- 
ment, then quartered in those parts; as he imagined there was 
not a spot of ground, where lie might be more like to have a 
call to expose his life in the service of his country ; and perhaps, 
by appearing on a proper call early in its defence, be instru- 
mental in suppressing the beginnings of most formidable mis- 
chief. How rightly he judged in these things, the event did too 
evidently shew. 

§ 1 27; The evening before our last separation, as I knew, I 
could not entertain the invaluable friend, who was then my 
guest more agreeably, I preaclied a sermon in my own house, 
■with some peculiar reference to his case and circumstances, from 
those ever memorable words, than which I have never felt any 
more powerfnl and more comfortable: Psal xci. 14, 15, 16. 
Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore wilt I deliver 
him ; I will set him on high, because he hath known my name : 
He shall call upon me, and I will answer him : I will be with 
him in trouble, I will deliver him, and honour him : With lojig 
life, -or length of days, xvill I salisfij him, and shew him my 
salvation. This scripture could not but lead our meditations to 
survey the character of the good man, as one, who so knows the 
name of the blessed God, (has such a deep apprehension of the 
glories and perfections of his nature,) as determinately to set 
his love upon h;m, to make him the supreme object of his most 
ardent and constant affection. And it suggested the most sub- 
lime and animating hopes to persons of such a character ; that 
their prayers shall be always acceptable to God ; that though 
they may, and must, be called out to their share in the troubles 
and calamities of life, yet they may assure themselves of the 
divine presence in all; which shall issue in their deliverance, in 
their exaltation, sometimes to distinguished honour and esteem 
among men, and, it may be, in a long course of useful and 
happy years on earth; at least, M-hich shall undoubtedly end in 
seeing, to their perpetual delight, the complete salvation of God, 
in a world, Avhere they shall enjoy length of days for ever and 
ever, and employ them all in adoring the great author of their 
salvation and felicity. It is evident, that these natural thoughts 
on such a scripture were matters of universal concern. Yet, 
liad I known, that this was the last time, I should ever address 
Colonel Gardiner, as a minister of the gospel, and had I fore- 


seen the scenes through which God was about to lead him, I 
hardly know what considerations I could have suggested with 
more peculiar propriety. The attention, elevation, and delight, 
with which he heard them, was very apparent ; and the plea- 
sure, which the observation of it gave me, continues to this mo- 
ment. And let me be permitted to digress so far, as to add, 
that this is, indeed, the great support of a Christian minister, 
under the many discouragements and disappointments which he 
meets with, in his attempts to fix upon the profligate or the 
thoughtless part of mankind, a deep sense of religious truth; 
that there is another important part of his work, in which he 
may hope to be more generally successful ; as by plain, artless, 
but serious discourses, the great principles of Christian duty 
and hope may be nourished and invigorated in good men, their 
graces watered as at the root, and their souls animated, both to 
persevere, and improve in holiness. And when we are ef- 
fectually performing such benevolent offices, so well suiting 
our immortal natures, to persons, whose hearts are cemented 
"with ours in the bonds of the m.ost endearing and sacred friend- 
ship, it is too little to say, it over-pays the fatigue of our 
labours ; it even swallows up all sense of it, in the most rational 
and sublime pleasure. 

§ 128. An incident occurs to my mind, which happened 
that evening, which, at least, for the oddness of it, may deserve 
a place in these memoirs. I had then with me one Thomas Por- 
ter, a poor, but very honest and religious man, now living at 
Hatfield-Broadoak, in Essex, who is quite unacquainted with 
letters, so as not to be able to distinguish one from another ; yet 
is master of the contents of the bible in so extraordinary a 
degree, that he has not only fixed an immense number of texts 
in his memory, but merely by hearing them quoted in sermons, 
has registered there the chapter and verse, in which these 
passages are to be found : This is attended with a marvellous 
facility in directing those that can read, to turn to them, and a 
most unaccountable talent of fixing on such, as suit almost 
every imaginable variety of circumstances in common life. 
There are two considerations in his case, which make it the 
more wonderful : The one, that he is a person of a very low 
genius, having, besides a stammering, which makes his speech 
almost unintelligible to strangers, so wild and awkward a 
manner of behaviour, that he is frequently taken for an idiot, 
and seems, in many things, to be indeed so : The other, that he 
grew up to manhood in a very licentious course of living, and 
an entire ignorance of divine things, so that all these exact* 



impressions on his memory have been made in his riper years. 
I thought it would not be disagreeable to the Colonel, to intro- 
duce to him this odd phaenomenon, which many hundreds of 
people have had a curiosity to examine: And among all tlie 
strange things, I have seen in him, I never remember any, which 
equalled what passed on this occasion. On hearing the Colonel's 
profession, and receiving some hints of his religious character, 
he ran through a vast variety of scriptures, beginning at the Pen- 
tateuch and going on to the Revelation, relating either to the de- 
pendance to be fixed on God for the success of military pre- 
parations, or to the instances and promises occurring there of 
his care of good men in the inost imminent dangers, or to the en- 
couragement to despise perils and death, while engaged in a 
good cause, and supported by the views of a happy immortality, 
1 believe, he quoted more than twenty of these passages; and I 
must freely own, that I know not, who could have chose them 
with greater propriety. If my memory do not deceive me, the 
last of this catalogue was that, from which I afterwards preach- 
ed on the lamented occasion of this great man's fall : Be thou 
faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. We 
were all astonished at so remarkable a fact ; and I question not, 
but that many of my readers will think the memory of it wprthy 
of being thus preserved. 

§ 129. But to return to my main subject: The next day 
after the sermon and convei'sation, of which I have been speak- 
ing, I took my last leave of my inestimable friend, after attend- 
ing him some part of his way northward. The first stage of 
our journey was to the cottage of that poor, but very religious 
family, which I had occasion to mention above, as relieved, and 
indeed, in a great measure, subsisted, by his charity. And 
nothing could be more delightful, than to observe the condescen- 
sion, with which he conversed with these his humble pensioners. 
We there put up our last united prayers together ; and he after- 
wards expressed, in the strongest terms, I ever heard him use on 
such an occasion, the singular pleasure with which he had join- 
ed in them. Indeed, it was no small satisfaction to me, to have 
an opportunity of recommending such a valuable friend to the 
divine protection and blessing, with that particular freedom, and 
enlargement on what was peculiar in his circumstances, which 
hardly any other situation, unless we had been quite alone, could 
so conveniently have admitted. We Avent from thence to the 
table of a person of distinction in the neighbourhood ; where he 
had an opportunity of shewing, in how decent and graceful d, 



manner he could unite the Cliristian and the gentleman, and 
give conversation an improving and religious turn, without 
violating any of the rules of polite behaviour, or saying or doing 
any thing, which looked at all constrained or affected. Here 
we took our last embrace, committing each other to the care of 
the God of heaven; and the Colonel pursued liis journey to the 
north, where he spent all tlie remainder of his days. 

§ 130. The more I reflect upon this appointment of Provi- 
dence, the more I discern of the beauty and wisdom of it ; not 
onh', as it led directly to that glorious period of life, with which 
God had determined to honour him, and in which, I think, it be- 
comes all his friends to reioice ; but also, as the retirement, on 
which he entered, could not but have a happy tendency to favour 
his more immediate and complete preparation for so speedy a 
remove. To wliich we may add, that it must probably have a 
very powerful influence to promote the interests of religion, in- 
comparably the greatest of ail interests, among the members of 
his own family ; who must surely edify much by such daily 
lessons as they received from his lips, Avhen they saw them 
illustrated and enforced by so admirable an example, and this 
for two complete years. It is the more remarkable, as I cannot 
find from the memoirs of his life in my hands, that he had ever 
been so long at home since he had a family, or indeed, from his 
childliood, ever so long at a time in any one place. 

§ 131. With how clear a lustre his lamp shone, and with 
M'hat holy vigour his loins were girded up in the service of his 
God, in these his latter days, 1 learn, in part, from the letters of 
several excellent persons, in the ministry, or in secular life, with 
whom I have since conversed or corresponded. And in his 
man}' letters, dated from Bankton, during this period, I have 
still farther evidence, how happy he was, amidst those infirmi- 
ties of body, which his tenderness for me would seldom allow 
him to mention ; for it appears from them, what a daily inter- 
course he kept up with heaven, and what delightful communion 
with God crowned his attendance on public ordinances, and his 
sweet hours of devout retirement. He mentions his sacramental 
opportunities with peculiar relish, crying out as in a holy rap- 
ture, in reference to one and another of them, " Oh how gracious 
a Master do we serve ! How pleasant is his service ! How rich 
the entertainments of his love! Yet, oh how poor, and cold are 
our services !" — But I will not multiply quotations of this sort, 
after those I have given above, which may be a sufficient speci- 
men of many more in the same strain. This hint may suffice to 
shew, that the same ardor of soul held out in a great measure to 


the last ; and indeed, it seems, that towards the close of life, like 
the flame of a lamp almost expiring, it sometimes exerted an 
unusual hiaze. 

§ 132. He spent much of his time at Bankton in religious 
solitude ; and one most intimately conversant with him assures 
me, that the traces of that delightful converse with God, which 
he enjoyed in it, might easily be discerned in that solemn yet 
cheerful countenance, with which he often came out of his 
closet. Yet his exercises there must sometimes have been 
very mournful, considering the melancholy views which he 
had of the state of our public affairs. " I should be glad," says 
he, in a letter which he sent me, about the close of the year, 
3 743, " to hear what wise and good people among you think of 
the present circumstances of things. For my own part, though, 
I thank God, I fear nothing for myself, my apprehensions for 
the public are very gloomy, considering the deplorable pre- 
valency of almost all kinds of wickedness amongst us ; the 
natural consequence of the contempt of the gospel. I am 
daily offering my prayers to God for this sinful land of ours, 
over which his judgment seems to be gathering ; and my 
strength is sometimes so exhausted with those strong cries and 
tears, which I pour out before God on this occasion, that I am 
hardly able to stand when I arise from my knees." If we have 
many remaining to stand in the breach with equal fervency, I 
hope, crying as our provocations are, God will still be in- 
treated for us, and save us. 

§ i:i3. Most of the other letters, I had the pleasure of 
receiving from him after our last separation, are either filled, 
like those of former years, with tender expressions of affec- 
tionate solicitude for my domestic comfort and public usefulness, 
or relate to the writings I published during this time, or to the 
affairs of his eldest Son then under my care. But these are 
things, which are by no means of a nature to be communicated 
here. It is enough to remark in the general, that the christian 
was still mmgled, with all the care of the friend, and the 

§ 134. But I think it incumbent upon me to observe, that 
during this time, and some preceding years, his attention, ever 
wakeful to such concerns, was much engaged by some religious 
appearances, which happened about this time, both in England 
and Scotland ; with regard to which, some may be curious to 
know his sentiments. He communicated them to me with the 
most unreserved freedom j and I cannot apprehend myself 



under any engaf^ements to conceal them, as I am persuaded, 
that it will be no prejudice to his memory, that they should be 
publicly known. 

§ 135. It was from Colonel Gardiner's pen that I received 
the first notice of that ever memorable scene which was opened 
at Kilsj^th, under the ministry of the Reverend Mr. Mac- 
Culloch, in the month of February, 1741-2. He communicated 
to me the copy of two letters from that eminently favoured 
servant of God, giving an account of that extraordinary success, 
■which had within a few days accompanied his preaching ; when, 
as I remember, in a little more than a fortnight, a hundred and 
thirty souls, Avho had before continued in long insensibility under 
the faithful preaching of the gospel, were awakened on a 
sudden to attend to it, as if it had been a new revelation brought 
down from heaven, and attested by as astonishing miracles as 
ever were wrought by Peter or Paul ; though they heard it only 
from a person, under whose ministry they had sate for several 
years. Struck with a power and majesty in the word of God, 
■which they had never felt before, they crouded his house, 
night and day, making their applications to him for spiritual 
direction and assistance, -vvith an earnestness and solicitude, 
■svhich floods of tears and cries, that swallowed up their own 
V'ords and his, could not sufficiently express. The Colonel 
mentioned this at first to me, *' as matter of eternal praise, 
■which he knew would rejoice my very soul ;" And when he 
saw it spread in the neighbouring parts, and observed the 
glorious reformation which it produced in the lives of great 
multitudes, and the abiding fruits of it for succeeding months 
and years, it increased and confirmed his joy. But the facts 
relating to this matter have been laid before the world in so 
authentic a manner, and the agency of divine grace in them 
has been so rationally vindicated, and so pathetically repre- 
sented, in Avhat the reverend and judicious Mr. Webster has 
■written upon the subject; that it is altogether superfluous for 
me to add any thing farther than my hearty prayers, that the 
•work may be as extensive, as it was apparently glorious and 

§ 136. It was with great pleasure, that he received any 
intelligence of a like kind from England ; whether the clergy 
of the established church, or dissenting ministers, whether our 
own countrymen, or foreigners, were the instruments of it. 
And whatever weaknesses or errors might mingle themselves 
"with valuable qualities in such as were active in such a work, 
he appeared to love and honour them, in proportion to the 


degree, he saw reason to believe, their hearts were devoted to 
tlje service of Christ, and their attempts owned and succeeded 
by him. I remember, that mentioning one of these gentlemen, 
who had been remarkably successful in his ministry, and 
seemed to have met with some very unkind usage, he says, I 
had rather be that despised persecuted man, to be an instru- 
ment in the hand of the Spirit, in converting so many souls, 
and building up so many in their holy faith, than I would be 
emperor of the whole world." Yet this steady and judicious 
Christian, for such he most assuredly was, at the same time 
that he esteemed a man for his good intention and his worthy 
qualities, did not suffer himself to be hurried away into all the 
singularity of his sentiments, or to admire his imprudences or 
excesses. On the contrary, he saw and lamented that artifice, 
M'hich the great father of fraud has so long, and so successfully 
been practising ; who, like the enemies of Israel, Avhen he 
cannot entirely prevent the building of God's temple, does, as it 
■were, offer his assistance to carry on the work, that he may 
thereby get the most effectual opportunities of obstructing it. 
The Colonel often expressed his astonishment at the wide ex- 
tremes, into which some, whom on the whole he thought very 
worthy men, Avere permitted to run in many doctrinal and 
speculative points ; and discerned how evidently it appeared 
from hence, that we cannot argue the truth of any doctrine 
from the success of the preacher ; since this would be a demon- 
stration, which might equally prove both parts of a contradic- 
tion. Yet when he observed, that an high regard to the 
atonement and righteousness of Christ, and to the free grace of 
God in him, exerted by the operation of the Divine Spirit, was 
generally common to all, who had been peculiarly successful in 
the conversion and reformation of men, (how widely soever 
their judgments might differ in other points, and how warmly 
soever they might oppose each other in consequence of that 
diversity ;) it tended greatly to confirm his faith in these prin- 
ciples, as well as to open his heart in love to all of every 
denomination, who maintained an affectionate regard to them. 
And though what he remarked as to the conduct and success of 
ministers of the most opposite strains of preaching, confirmed 
him in these sentiments ; yet he alwavs esteemed and loved 
virtuous and benevolent men, even where he thought them 
most mistaken in the notions they formed of religion, or in the 
methods, by which they attempted to serve it. 

§ 137. While I thus represent Avhat all who knew him must 
soon have observed of Colonel Gardiner's affectionate regatd to 


these peculiar doctrines of our holy religion, it is necessary that 
I should also inform my reader, that it was not his judgment, 
that the attention of ministers or their hearers should be wholly 
engrossed by these, excellent as they are ; but that all the 
parts of the scheme of truth and duty should be regarded in their 
due connection and proportion. Far from that distempered 
taste, which can bear nothing but cordials, it was his deliberate 
judgment, that tlie law should be preached, as well as the 
gospel; and hardly any thing gave him greater offence, than 
the irreverent manner in which some, who have been ignorantly 
extolled as the most zealous evangelical preachers, have some- 
times been tempted to speak of the former ; much indeed to the 
scandal of all consistent and judicious Christians. He delighted 
to be instructed in his duty, and to hear much of the inward 
exercises of the spiritual and divine life. And he always 
■wished, so far as I could observe, to have these topics treated 
in a rational as well as a spiritual manner, with solidity, and 
order of thought, with perspicuity and weight of expression ; 
as well knowing, that religion is a most reasonable service ; 
that God has not chosen idiots or lunatics as the instruments, 
or nonsense as the means, of building up his church ; and 
that, though the charge of enthusiasm is often fixed on Chris- 
tianity and its ministers, in a wild, undeserved, and indeed 
(on the whole) enthusiastical manner, by some of the loudest 
or most solemn pretenders to reason, yet there is really such a 
thing as enthusiasm, against which it becomes the true friends 
of the Revelation, to be diligently on their guard; lest Chris- 
tianity, instead of being exalted, should be greatly corrupted 
and debased, and all manner of aburdity, both in doctrine and 
practice, introduced by methods, which, like persecution, 
throw truth, and falsehood on a level, render the grossest 
errors, at once more plausible, and more incurable. He had 
too mnch candour and equity, to fix general charges of this 
nature ; but he was really (and I think not vainly) apprehen- 
sive, that the emissaries and agents of the most corrupt church, 
that ever dishonoured the christian name, (by which, it will 
easily be understood, I mean that of Rome,) might very pos- 
sibly insinuate themselves into societies, to which they could no 
otherwise have access, and make their advantage of that total 
resignation of the understanding, and contempt of reason and 
learning, which nothing but ignorance, delirium, or knavery 
can dictate, to lead men blindfold whither it pleased, till it 
set them down at the foot of an altar,, where transubstantiation 
itself was consecrated. 


§ 138. I know not Avliere 1 can more properly introduce 
another part of the Colonel's character, which, obvious as it was, 
Ihave not yet touched upon ; I mean, his tenderness to those 
who were under any spiritual distress ; wherein he was, indeed, 
an example to ministers, in a duty more peculiarly theirs. I 
have seen many amiable instances of this, myself; and I have 
been informed of many others : One of which happened about 
the time of that awakening in the western parts of Scotland, 
which I touched upon above; when the Rev. Mr. M'Laurin, of 
Glasgow, found occasion to witness to the great propriety, 
judgment, and felicity of manner, with which he addressed 
spiritual consolation to an afflicted soul, who applied to the pro- 
fessor, at a time, when he had not an opportunity immediately 
to give audience to the case. And, indeed, as long ago as the 
year 1726, 1 find him writing to a friend, in a strain of tender- 
ness in this regard, which might well have become the most af- 
fectionate and experienced pastor. He there congratulates him 
on some religious enjoyments lately received, in part, it seems, 
by his means, when among otliers he has this modest expres- 
sion : *' If I have been made any way the means of doing you 
good, give the. whole glory to God; for he has been willing to 
shew, that the power was entirely of himself, since he has been 
pleased to make use of so very weak an instrument." In the 
same letter, he admonishes his friend, that he should not be too 
much surprised, if after having been, as he expresses it, upon 
the mount, he should be brought into the valley again; and re- 
minds him, that " we live by faith, and not by sensible assur- 
ance," representing, that there are some such full communica- 
tions from God, as seem almost to swallow up the actings of 
faith, from whence they take their rise: " Whereas, when a 
Chi'istian who walks in darkness, and sees no light, will yet 
hang, as it were, on the report of an absent Jesus, and," as one 
expresses it, in allusion to the story of Jacob and Joseph, '* can 
put himself as on the chariot of the promises, to be borne on to 
him, whom now he sees not ; there may be sublimer and more 
acceptable actings of a pure and strong faith, than in moments 
which afford the soul a much more rapturous delight." This is 
the substance of what he says in this excellent letter. Some of 
the phrases made use of, might not, perhaps, be intelligible to 
several of my readers, for which reason I do not exactly trans- 
scribe them all : But this is plainly and fully his meaning, and 
most of the words are his own. The sentiment is surely very 
just and important; and happy would it be for many excellent 
persons, who through wrong notions of the nature of faith, 


(wliich was ne\'er more misrepresented, than now amon^ some,) 
are perplexing themselves with most groundless doubts and scru- 
ples, if it were more generally understood, admitted, and con- 

§ 139. An endeared friend, who was most intimately con- 
versant with the Colonel during the two last years of his life, 
has favoured me with an account of some little circumstances 
relating to huii ; which I esteem as jirecious fragments, by 
■which the consistent tenor of his character may be I'arther 
illustrated. I shall therefore insert them here, without being 
very solicitous as to the order in which they are introduced. 

§ 140. He perceived himself evidently in a very declining 
state from his tirst arrival in Britain, and seemed to entertain a 
fixed apprehension, that he should continue but a little while 
longer in life. " He expected death," says my good correspon- 
dent, and was delighted with the prospect," Avhich did not grow 
less amiable by a nearer approach. The word of God, Avith 
Avhich he had as intimate an acquaintance as most men, I ever 
knew, and on which, especially on the New Testament, I have 
heard him make many very judicious and accurate remarks, 
was still his daily stud}^ ; and it furnished him with matter of ~ 
frequent conversation, much to the edification and comfort of 
those that were about him. It was recollected, that, among 
other passages, he had lately spoken of the following, as having 
made a deep impression on his mind : Mi/ soul, wait thou upon 
God! He would repeat it again and again. Only, onlj^, only! 
So plainly did he see, and so deeply did he feel, the vanity of 
creature confidences and expectations. With the strongest 
attestation would he often mention those words in Isaiah, as ve- 
rified by long experience : Thou wilt keep him in perject peace, 
whose 7nind has stayed on thee ; because he trusteth in thee. 
And with peculiar satisfaction would he utter those heroic words 
in Habakkuk, which he found armour of proof against every 
fear and every contingency: Though the jig-tree shall not 
blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines ; the labour of the 
olive shall/ail, and the fields shall yield no meat : the /locks shall 
be cut ojffrom the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls : 
Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my saU 
vation. The cxlvth Psalm was also spoken of by him with 
great delight, and Dr. Watts's version of it ; as well as several 
other of that excellent person's poetical composures. My 
friend, who transmits to me this account, adds the following 
words ; which I desire to insert with the deepest sentiments of 
unfeiij^ned hamiiitv and self-abasement before God, as most 


unworthy the honour of contributing in the least degree to the 
joys and graces of one so much my superior in every part of 
the Christian character. '* As the joy, with which good men see 
the happy fruits of their labours, makes a part of the present 
reward of the servants of God and the friends of Jesus, it must 
not be omitted, even in a letter to you, that your spiritual 
hymns were among his most delightful and soul-improving re- 
pasts ; particularly those, on beholding transgressors with grief, 
and Christ's message." What is added concerning my book of 
the Rise and Progress of Religion, and the terms, in which he 
expressed his esteem of it, I cannot suffer to pass my pen ; only 
desire most sincerely to bless God, that especially by the last 
chapters of that treatise, I had an opportunity at so great a 
distance of exhibiting some offices of Christian friendship to 
this excellent person, in the closing scenes of life ; which it 
would have been my greatest joy to have performed in person, 
had Providence permitted me then to have been near him. 

§ 141. The former of those hymns my correspondent men- 
tions, as having been so agreeable to Colonel Gardiner, I have 
given the reader above, ^t the end of § 101. The latter, which 
is called Christ's message, took its rise from Luke iv. 18, and 
seq. and is as follows : 

Hark ! the glad sound ! the Saviour comes, 

The Saviour promis'd long! 
I^et every heart prepare a throne. 

And every voice a song. 

On him the Spirit largely pour'd 

Exerts its sncred tire: 
Wisdom, and might, and zeal, and iove, 

His holy breast inspire. 

He comes, the prisoners to release 

In Satan's bondage held : 
The gates of brass before him burst. 

The iron fetters yield. 

He comes, from thickest films of vice 

To clear the mental ray. 
And on tlie eye-halls of the blind 

To pour celestial day *. 

He comes, the broken heart to bind. 

The bleeding soul to cure ; 
And with the treasures of liis grace 

'I'o enrich the humble poor. 

* This staiiza is mostly bonwved from Mr Pojj^. 
VOL. IV. ^ M 


His silver trumpets publish loud 

The jubilee of the Lord ; 
Our debts are all remitted now. 

Our heritage restor'd. 

Our glad hosannahs, Prince of Peace, 

Thy welcome shall proclaim ; 
And heaven's eternal arches ring 

With thjMjeloved name. 

§ 142. There is one hymn more, I shall beg leave to add, 
plain as it is, which Colonel Gardiner has been heard to men- 
tion with particular regard, as expressing the inmost sentiments 
of his soul; and they were undoubtedly so, in the last rational 
moments of his expiring life. It is called, Christ precious to 
the believer ; and was composed to be sung after a sermon on 
1 Pet. ii. 7. 

Jesus ! I love thy charming name, 

'Tis music to my ear : 
Fain vi^ould I sound it out so loud. 

That earth and heaven should hear ! 

Yes, thou art precious to my soul. 

My transport, and my trust : 
Jewels to thee are gaudy toys, 

And gold is sordid dust. 

All my capacious powers can wish. 

In thee most richly meet: 
Nor to my eyes is life so dear. 
Nor friendship half so sweet. 

Thy grace still dwells upon my heart, 

And sheds its fragrance there ; 
The noblest balm of all its wounds. 

The cordial of its care. 

I'll speak the honours of thy name 

With my last labouring breath ; 
Then speechless clasp thee in my arms. 

The antidote of death. 

§ 143. Those who were intimate with Colonel Gardiner 
must have observed, how ready he was to give a devotional turn 
to any subject that occurred. And in particular, the spiritual 
and heavenly disposition of his soul discovered itself in the re- 
flections and improvements, which he made, when reading his- 
tory ; in which he took a great deal of pleasure, as persons re- 
markable for their knowledge of mankind, and observation of 
Providence, generally do. I have an instance of this before me, 
which, though too natural to be at all surprising, will, I dare 


say, be pleasing to the devout mind. He had just been reading, 
in Rollin's extract from Xenophon, the answer which the lady 
of Tigranesmade, when all the company were extolling Cyrus, 
and, expressing the admiration, with which his appearance and 
behaviour struck them ; the question being asked her, What 
she thought of him ? She answered, I don't know, I did not ob- 
serve him. On Avhat then, said one of the company, did you 
fix your attention ? On him, replied she, (referring to the ge- 
nerous speech which her husband had just made,) who said he 
would give a thousand lives to ransom my liberty. " Oh," 
cried the Colonel when reading it, ^' how ought we to fix our 
eyes and hearts on him, who not in offer, but in reality, gave 
his own precious life to ransom us from the most dreadful sla- 
very, and from eternal destruction !" But this is only one in- 
stance among a thousand. His heart was so habitually set upon 
divine things, and he had such a permanent and overflowing 
sense of the love of Christ, that he could not forbear connect- 
ingr such reflections, with a multitude of more distant occasions 
occurring in daily life, where less advanced Christians would 
not have thought of them : And thus, like our great Master, he 
made every little incident a source of devotion, and an instru- 
ment of holy zeal. 

§ 1 44. Enfeebled as his constitution was, he was still intent 
on improving his time to some valuable purposes : And when 
his friends expostulated with him, that he gave his body so 
little rest, he used to answer, " It will rest long enough in the 

§ 145. The July before his death, he was persuaded to take 
a journey to Scarborough for the recovery of his health ; from 
which he was at least encouraged to expect some little revival. 
After this he had thoughts of going to London, and designed 
to have spent part of September at Northampton. The ex- 
pectation of this was mutually agreeable ; but providence saw 
fit to disconcert the scheme. His love for his friends in these 
parts occasioned him to express some regret on his being com- 
manded back : And I am pretty confident, from the manner, in 
which he expressed himself in one of his last letters to mc, that 
he had some more important reasons for wishing an opportunity 
of making a London journey just at that crisis ; which, the rea- 
der will remember, was before the rebellion broke out. But as 
Providence determined it otherwise, he acquiesced ; and I am 
well satisfied, that could he have distinctly foreseen the approach- 
ing event, so far as it coocerned his own person, he would have 

M 2 


esteemed it the happiest summons he received. While he was 
at Scarborough, I find by a letter dated from thence, July 26, 
1745, that he had been informed of the gaiety, which so unsea- 
sonably prevailed at Edinburgh, where great multitudes were 
then spending their time in balls, assembUes, and plays, little 
mindful of the rod of God which was then hanging over them ; 
on which occasion, he hath this expression : " I am greatly 
surprised, that the people of Edinburgh should be employed in 
such foolish diversions, when our situation is at present more 
melancholy than ever I saw it in my life. But there is one 
thing which I am very sure of, that comforts me, viz. that it 
shall go well with the righteous, come what will." 

§ 146. Quickly after his return home, the flame burst out, 
and his regiment was ordered to Stirling. It was in the castle 
there, that his Lady and eldest daughter enjoyed the last happy 
hours of his company ; and I think, it was about ten or twelve 
days before his death, that he parted from them there. A re- 
markable circumstance attended that parting, which hath been 
touched upon by surviving friends in more than one of their 
letters to me. His Lady was so affected when she took her last 
leave of him, that she could not forbear bursting out into a flood 
of tears, with other marks of unusual emotion. And when he 
asked her the reason, she urged the apprehension, she had of 
losing such an invaluable friend, amidst the dangers to which he 
was then called out, as a very suflRcient apology. Upon which 
she took particular notice, that whereas he had generally com- 
forted her on such occasions, by pleading with her that remark- 
able hand of Providence, which had so fiequently in former 
instances been exerted for his preservation, and that in the 
greatest extremity, he said nothing of it now ; but only replied, 
in his sententious manner, " We have an eternity to spend 

§ 147. That heroic contempt of death, which had often dis- 
covered itself in the midst of former dangers, was manifested 
now in his discourse with several of his most intimate friends. 
I have reserved for this place one genuine expression of it many 
years before, which I thought might be mentioned with some 
advantage here. In July, 1725, he had been sent to some place, 
not far from Hamilton, to quell a mutiny among some of our 
troops. I know not the particular occasion ; but I remember 
to have heard him mention it as so fierce a one, that he scarce 
ever apprehended himself in a more hazardous circumstance. 
Yet he quelled it, by his presence alone, and the expostulations 
he used ; evidently putting his life into his hand to do it. The 


particulars of the story struck me much ; but I do not so exactly 
remember them, as to venture to relate them here. I only ob- 
serve, that in a letter dated July 16, that year, which I have 
now before me, and Avhich evidently refers to this event, he 
writes thus : " I have been very busy, hurried about from place 
to place ; but blessed be God, all is over without bloodshed. 
And pray let me ask. What made you shew so much concern 
for me in your last? Were you afraid, I should get to heaven 
before you ? Or can any evil befall those, who are followers of 
that which is good * ? 

§ 148. And as these were his sentiments in the vigour of 
his davs, so neither did declining years and the infirmities of a 
broken constitution on the one hand, nor any desires of enjoying 
the honours and profits of so high a station, or, what was much 
more to him, the converse of the most affectionate of wives and 
so many amiable children and friends on the other, enervate his 
spirits in the least : But as he had in former years often ex- 
pressed it, to me and several others, as his desire, " that if it 
were the will of God, he might have some honourable call to 
sacrifice his hfe in defence of religion and the liberties of his 
country ;" so, when it appeared to him most probable that he 
might be called to it immediately, he met the summons with 
the greatest readiness. This appears in part from a letter which 
he wrote to the Reverend Mr. Adams of Falkirk, just as he was 
on marching from Stirling, which was only eight days before 
his death : " The rebels" says he, " are advancing to cross the 
Firth ; but I trust in the Almighty God, who doth whatsoever 
he pleases, in the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants 
of the earth." And the same gentleman tells me, that a few 
days after the date of this, he marched through Falkirk with his 
regiment ; and though he was then in so languishing a state, 
that he needed his assistance as a secretary to write for some rein- 
forcement, which might put it in his power to make a stand, as 
he was very desirous to have done, he expressed a most genuine 

* I doubt not, but this will remind some of my readers of that noble speech 
of Zuinglius, when (according to the usage of that country, attending his flock to a 
battle, in which their religion and liberties were all at stake, on his receiving a mor- 
tal wound by a bullet, of which he soon expired, while his friends were in all the 
first astonishment of grief, he bravely said as he was dying, " Eoquid hoc Infor- 
tunii ? Is this " to be reckoned a misfortune ?" How many of our Deists would 
have celebrated such a sentence, if it had come from the lips of an ancient Roman ? 
Strange, that the name of Christ should be so odious, that, the brightest virtues of 
his followers should be despised for his sake ! but so it is ; and so our Master told 
us, it would be.: And our faith is m this connection confirmed by those, that strive 
most to overthrow it. 


and noble contempt of life, when to be exposed in the defence 
of a worthy cause. 

§ 149. These sentiments wrought in him to the last, 
in the most effectual manner ; and he seemed for a while 
to have infused them into the regiment which he commanded : 
For they expressed such a spirit in their march from Stirling, 
that I am assured, the Colonel was oblisred to exert all his au- 
thority to prevent their making incursions on the rebel army, 
"which then lay very near them ; and had it been thought pro- 
per to send him the reinforcement he requested, none can say 
"what the consequence might have been. But he was ordered 
to march as fast as possible, to meet Sir John Cope's forces at 
Dunbar, which he did : And that hasty retreat, in concurrence 
with the news which they soon after received, of the surrender 
of Edinburgh to the rebels, (as there is great reason to believe, 
by the treachery of a few, m opposition to the judgment of by 
far the greater and better part of the inhabitants,) struck a 
panic into both the regiments of dragoons, which became visi- 
ble in some very apparent and remarkable circumstances in 
their behaviour, which I forbear to relate. This affected Colo- 
nel Gardiner so much, that on the Thursday before the fatal 
action at Preston-Pans, he intimated to an officer of considera- 
ble rank and note, from whom I had it by a very sure channel 
of conveyance, that he expected the event would be, as in fact 
it was. In this view, there is all imaginable reason to believe, 
he had formed his resolution as to his own personal conduct, 
which was, " that he would not, in case of the flight of those 
under his command, retreat with them ;" by which, as it seemed, 
he was reasonably apprehensive, he might have stained the ho- 
nour of his former services, and have given some occasion for 
the enemy to have spoken reproachfully. He much rather 
chose, if Providence gave him the call, to leave in his death an 
example of fidelity and bravery, which might very probably be, 
as in fact it seems indeed to have been, of much greater im- 
portance to his country, than any other service, which, in the 
few days of remaining life, he could expect to render it. I con- 
clude these to have been his views, not only from what I knew 
of his general character and temper, but likewise from some 
intimations which he gave to a very worthy person from Edin- 
burgh, who visited him the day before the action ; to whom he 
said, *' I cannot influence the conduct of others, as I could wish ; 
but I have one life to sacrifice to my country's safety, and I shall 
not spare it ;" or words to this effect. 

§ 150. I have heard such a multitude of inconsistent re- 



ports of the circumstances of Colonel Gardiner's death, that I 
had almost despaired of being able to give my reader any par- 
ticular satisfaction concerning so interesting a scene. But by 
a happy accident I have very lately had an opportunity of be- 
ing exactly informed of the whole, by that brave man Mr. John 
Forster, his faithful servant, and worthy of the honour of serv- 
ing such a master, whom I had seen with him at mv house 
some years before. He attended hnn in his last hours, and 
gave me the narration at large; which he would be ready, if it 
were requisite, to attest upon oath. From his mouth I wrote it 
down with the utmost exactness, and could easily believe from 
the genuine and affectionate manner, in which lie related the 
particulars, that according to his own striking expression, " his 
eye and his heart were always upon his honoured master, dur- 
ing the whole time." *. 

§151. On Friday, September 20, (the day before the battle, 
■which transmitted him to his immortal crown,) the Colonel drew 
up his regiment in the afternoon, and rode througii all their 
ranks ; addressing them at once, in the most respectful and ani- 
mating manner, both as soldiers, and as Christians, to engage 
them to exert themselves courageously in the service of their 
countr}-, and to neglect nothing, that might have a tendency to 
prepare them for whatever event might happen. They seemed 
much affected with the address, and expressed a very ardent 
desire of attacking the enemy immediately: A desire, in which 
he and another very gallant officer of distinguished rank, dig. 
nity, and character both for bravery and conduct, would gladly 
have gratified them, if it had been in the power of either. He 
earnestly pressed it on the commanding officer, both as the sol- 
diers were then in better spirits, than it could be supposed they 
would be, after having passed the night under arms ; and also, 
as the circumstance of making an attack, would be some en- 
couragement to them, and probably some terror to the enemy, 
w'ho would have had the disadvantage of standing on the de- 
fence : A disadvantage, with which those wild barbarians, for 
such most of them were, perhaps, would have been more struck 
than better disciplined troops ; especially, Avhen they fought 
against the laws of their country too. He also apprehended, 

* Just as I am putting the last hand to these memoirs, March 2, 1746-7, I 
have met with a coipoial in Colonel Lascelle's regiment, who was also an eye-wit- 
ness to what happened at Preston-Pans on the day of the battle, and the day be- 
fore : And the account he has given me of some memorable particulars is so exactly 
agreeable to that which I received irom Mr. Forster, that it would much conoborate 
his testimony, if there were not so many other considerations to render it convincing. 


that by marching to meet them, some advantage might have 
been secured with regard to the ground; with which, it is na- 
tural to imagine, he must have been perfectly acquainted, as it 
lay just at his own door, and he had rode over it so many 
hundred times. When I mention these things, I do not pre- 
tend to be capable of judging, how far this advice was, on the 
whole, right. A variety of circumstances, to me unknown, 
might make it otherwise. It is certain, however, that it was 
brave. But it was over-ruled in this respect, as it also was in 
the disposition of the cannon, which he would have had planted 
in the centre of our small army, rather than just before his regi- 
ment, which was in the right wing ; where he was apprehensive, 
that the horses, which had not been in any engagement before, 
might be thrown into some disorder by the discharge so very 
rear them. He urged this the more, as he thought, the attack 
of the rebels might probably be made on the centre of the foot; 
where he knew there were some brave men, on whose standing 
he thought, under God, the success of the day depended. When 
he found, that he could not carry either of these points, nor some 
others, which out of regard to the common safety, he insisted 
upon with some unusual earnestness, he dropped some intima- 
tions of the consequences, which he apprehended, and which 
did, in fact, follow ; and submitting to Providence, spent the 
remainder of the day in making as good a disposition, as cir- 
cumstances would allow *. 

§ 152. He continued all night under arms, wrapped up in 
his cloak , and generally sheltered under a rick of barley, which 
happened to be in the field. About three in the morning, he 
called his domestic servants to him, of which there were four in 
■waiting. He dismissed three of them, with most affectionate 
Christian advice, and such solemn charges relating to the per- 
formance of their duty and the care of their souls, as seemed 
plainly to intimate, that he apprehended it at least very proba- 
ble, he was taking his last farewell of them. There is great 
reason to believe, that he spent the little remainder of the time, 

* Several of these circumstances have since been confirmed by the concurrent 
testimony of another very credible person, Mr. Robert Douglas, now a surgeon in 
the navy, who was a volunteer at Edinburgh, just before the rebels entered the 
place ; who saw Colonel Gardiner come from Haddington to the field of battle, the 
day before the action, in a chaise, being, as from that circumstance he supposed, 
in so weak a state, that he could not well endure the fatigue of riding on horseback. 
He obsei-ved Colonel Gardiner in discourse with several officers, the evening before 
the engagement ; at which time, it was afterwards reported, he gave his advice to 
attack the rebels: And when it was overruled, he afterwards saw the Colonel waljt 
by himself in a very pensive manner. 



■^vliicli could not be much above an hour, in those de-^ont ex- 
ercises oi' soul, which had so Jong been habitual to him, and 
to which so many circumstances did then concur to call 
liim. The army was alarmed by break of day, bv the noise 
of the rebels' approach, and the attack was made before sun- 
rise ; 3-et, when it was light enough to discern what passed. 
As soon as the enemy came within gun-shot, they made a 
furious fire ; and fit is said, that the dragoons, which consti- 
tuted the left Aving, immediately fled. The Colonel, at the 
beginning of the onset, which, in the whole, lasted but a few 
minutes, received a wound by a bullet in Iiis left breast, which 
made him give a sudden spring in his saddle ; npon Avhich his 
servant, who had the led horse, would have persuaded him to 
retreat : But he said, it was only a wound in the flesh ; and 
fought on, though he presently after received a shot in his right 
thigh. In the mean time, it was discerned, that some of the 
enemies fell by him; and particularly one man, who had made 
him a treacherous visit but a few days before, with great pro- 
fessions of zeal for the present estabhshment. 

§ 15.3. iM'cnts of this kind pass in less time, than the de- 
scription of them can be written, or than it can be read. The 
Colonel was for a few moments supported by his men, and par- 
ticularly by that worthy person Lieutenant-Colonel Whitney, 
who was shot through the arm here, and, a few months after, 
fell nobly in the battle of Falkirk ; and by Lieutenant West, a 
man of distinguished bravery ; as also by about fifteen dragoons, 
"^vho stood by him to the last. But after a faint fire, the regi- 
ment, in general, was seized with a panic ; and though their 
Colonel and some other gallant officers, did what they could, to 
rally them once or twice, they at last took a precipitate flight. 
And just in the moment when Colonel Gardiner seemed to be mak- 
ing a pause, to deliberate Avhatduty required him to do in such a 
circumstance, an accident happened, which must, I think, in the 
judgment of every worthy and generous man, be allowed a suf- 
ficient apology for exposing his life to so great hazard, when his 
regiment had left him *. He saw a party of the foot, who were 

* The colonel, who was well apqiiaintqtl with military histon,-, might possibly 
remember, that in the battle at Bleiilieim, the illustrious Prince Ei-.geue, when the 
horse of the wing, he commanded had run away thrice, charged at tlie head of the 
ff>ot, and tiiereby greatly contributed to the gloiious success of the day. At least 
such an example may conduce to vindicate that noble ardoiir, which, amidst all the 
applauses of his country, some have been so cool and so critical as to blame. For 
my own part, I thank God, that I am not called to apologize for his following his 
troops in their Qight j which I fear would have been a much harder task, and which, 



tlien bravely fighting near him, and M-hom he was ordered to 
support, had no officer to head them ; upon which he said 
eagerly, in the hearing of the person, from whom I had this 
account, " Those brave fellows will be cut to pieces for want 
of a commander j" or words to that effect : Which while he 
was speaking, he rode up to them, and cried out aloud, 
*' Fire on, my lads, and fear nothing." But just as the words 
were out of his mouth, an highlander advanced towards him 
witli a scythe, fastened to a long pole, Avith which he gave him 
such a deep wound on his right arm, that his sword dropped out 
of his hand ; and at the same time several others coming about 
him, while he was thus dreadfully entangled with that cruel 
weapon, he was dragged off from his horse. The moment he 
fell, another highlander, who, if the king's evidence at Car- 
lisle may be credited, as I know not why they should not, 
though the unhappy creature died denying it, was one Mac- 
naught, who was executed about a year after, gave him a 
stroke, either with a broad swoi'd, or a Lochaber axe, for my 
informant could not exactly distinguish, on the hinder part of 
his head, which was the mortal blow. All, that his faithful 
attendant saw farther at this time, was, that his hat was fallen 
off, he took it in his left hand, and waved it, as a signal to him 
to retreat ; and added, what were the last words, he ever heard 
him speak, " Take care of yourself :" Upon which, the servant 

§ 154. It was reported at Edinburgh, on the day of the 
battle, by what seemed a considerable authority, that as the 
Colonel lay in his wounds, he said to a chief of the opposite 
side, " You are fighting for an earthly crown, I am going to 
receive an heavenly one ;" or something to that purpose. 
When I preached the sermon, long since printed, on occasion 
of his death, I had great reason to believe, this report was 
true ; though before the publication of it, I began to be in 
doubt: And on the whole, after the most accurate enquiry I 
could possibly make, at this distance, I cannot get any con- 
\incing evidence of it. Yet I must here observe, that it does 
not appear impossible, that something of this kind might 
indeed be uttered by him ; as his servant testifies, that he spoke 
to him after receiving that fatal bloAv, Avhich would seem most 
likely to have taken away the power of speech ; and as it is 
certain, he lived several hours after he fell. If therefore any 

doar as he was to me, wouhl have grieved me much more than his death, with these 
heroic ciicumstances attending' it. 


thing of this kind did happen, it must have been just about 
this instant. But as to the story of his being taken prisoner, 
and carried to the pretended prince, (who, by the way, after- 
wards rode his horse, and entered upon it into Derby,) with 
several other circumstances which were grafted upon that inter- 
view, there is the most undoubted evidence of its falsehood. 
For his attendant mentioned above assures me, that he himself 
immediately fled to a mill, at the distance of about two miles, 
from the spot of ground, on which the Colonel fell ; where he 
changed his dress, and, disguised like a miller's servant, 
returned with a cart as soon as possible ; which yet was not till 
near two hours after the engagement. The hurry of the action 
•was then pretty well over, and he found his much honoured 
Master, not only plundered of his watch and other things of 
value, but also stripped of his upper garments and boots; yet 
still breathing: And adds, that though he were not capable of 
speech, yet, on taking him up, he opened his eyes ; which malces 
it something questionable, whether he were altogether insen- 
sible. In this condition, and in this manner, he conveyed him 
to the church of Tranent, from whence he was immediately 
taken into the minister's house, and laid in bed ; where he con- 
tinued breathing, and frequently groaning, till about eleven 
in the forenoon ; when he took his final leave of pain and 
sorrow, and undoubtedly rose to those distinguished glories, 
which are reserved for those who have been so eminently and 
remarkably faithful unto death. 

§ 155. From the moment in which he fell, it was no longer 
a battle, but a rout and carnage. The cruelties, which the 
rebels, as it is generally said, under the command of Lord 
Elciio, inflicted on some of the king's troops after they had 
asked quarter, are dreadfully legible on the countenances of 
many Avho survived it. They entered Colonel Gardiner's 
house, before he was carried off from the field ; and, notwith- 
standing the strict orders which the unhappy Duke of Perth 
whose conduct is said to have been very humane in many 
instances, gave to the contrary, every thing of value was 
plundered, to the very curtains of the beds, and hangings of 
the rooms. His papers were all thrown into the wildest dis- 
order, and his house made an hospital, for the reception of 
those who were wounded in the action. 

§ 156. Such was the close of a life, which had been so 
zealously devoted to God, and filled up with so many honour- 
able services. TliJs was the death of him, who had been sq 



highly favoured by God, in the method, by vvliich be was 
brought back to him after so long and so great an estrangement, 
and in the progress of so many years, during which, in the ex- 
pressive phrase of the most ancient of writers, he had walked 
with him ; — to fall, as God threatened the people of his wrath 
that they should do, willi tumult, -joith shouting, and with the 
sound of the trumpet; Amos ii. 2. Several other very worthy, 
and some of them very eminent persons, shared the same fate ; 
cither now, in the battle of Preston-Pans, or quickly after, in 
that of Falkirk : * Providence, no doubt, permitting it, to 
establish our faith in the rewards of an invisible world ; as well 
as to teach us, to cease from man, and fix our dependance on 
an Almighty arm. 

§ 157. Tlie remains of this Christian hero as I believe 
every reader is now convinced, he may justly be called, were 
interred the Tuesday following, Sept. 24-. at the parish church at 
Tranent ; where he had usually attended divine service with 
great solemnity. His obsequies were honoured with the pre- 
sence of some persons of distinction, who were not afraid of 
paying that last piece of respect, to his memory, though the 
country was then in the bands of the enemy. But indeed there 
was no great hazard in this ; for his character was so well known, 
that even they themselves spoke honourably of him, and 
seemed to join with his friends in lamenting the fall of so brave 
and so worthy a man. 

§ 158. The remotest posterity will remember, for whom 
the honour of subduing this unnatural and pernicious rebellion 
was reserved ; and it will endear the person of the illustrious 
Duke of Cumberland, to ail but the open, or secret abettors of 
it in the present age, and consecrate his name to immortal 
honours among all the friends of religion and liberty, who shall 
arise after us. And I dare sa}', it will not be imagined, that I 
at all derogate from bis glory, in suggesting, that the memory 
of that valiant and excellent person, whose memoirs I am now 
concluding, may in some measure have contributed to that 

* Of these none were more memorable than those iUustrious brothers, Sir 
Robert Munro, and Doctor Munro j whose tragical but glorious fate was also shared 
quickly after by a third hero of the familj'', Captain Munro, of Culcairn, brother to 
Sir Robertand the Doctor. I thouglit of adding some account of tliesc Martyrs in 
the cause of liberty and religion, in this placo; but having had the pleasure of re- 
ceiving from some very credible and worthy persons, to whom they were well 
known, a larger account of them and their family, than can conveniently be com- 
prehended in a note, I chuse to make it a distinct article in the appendix, numb. 
Ill; by which I question not but I shall oblige every intelligent and generous reader, 
and I think myself very ha2>py to have it iu my power to do it. 


signal and complete victory, with which God was pleased to- 
crown the arms of his royal highness : For the force of such an 
example is very animating, and a painful consciousness of 
having deserted such a commander in sucIj extremity must at 
least awaken, where there M'as any spark of generosity, an 
earnest desire to avenge his death on those, who had sacrificed 
Iiis hlood, and that of so many other excellent persons, to the 
views of .their ambition, rapine, or bigotry, 

§ 159. The reflections, I have made in my funeral sermon 
on my honoured friend, and in the dedication of it to his wortliy 
and most afflicted Lady, supersede many things, which migiife 
otherwise have properly been added here, I conclude therefore, 
Avith humbly acknowledging the wisdom and goodness of that 
awful providence, which drew so thick a gloom around him in 
the last hours of his life, that the lustre of his virtues might dart 
through it with a more vivid and observable ray. It is abundant 
matter of thankfulness, that so signal a moimment of grace, and 
or'.iament of the christian profession, was raised in our age and 
country, and spared for so many honourable and useful years. 
Nor can all the tenderness of the most affectionate friendsliip, 
while its sorrows bleed afresh in the view of so tragical a scene, 
prevent my adoring the gracious appointment of the great 
Lord of all events, that when the day, in which he must have 
expired without an enemy, appeared so very near, the last ebb 
of his generous blood should be poured out, as a kind of sacred 
libation to the liberties of his country, and the honour of his 
God ; that all the other virtues of his character, embalmed as it 
were by that precious stream, might diffuse around a more 
extensive fragrancy, and be transmitted to the most remote 
posterity with that peculiar charm, which they cannot but 
derive from their connection with so gallant a fall: An event, 
as that blessed apostle, of whose spirit he so deeply drank, has 
expressed it, according to his earnest expectation, and his hope, 
that in him Christ might be glorified in all things, whether by 
his life, or by his death. 


No. I. 


.N the midst of so many more important articles, I had really 
forgot to say any thing of the person of Colonel Gardiner, of 
which nevertheless it may be proper here to add a word or two. 
It was, as I am informed, in younger life, remarkably graceful 
and amiable : And I can easily believe it, from Avhat I knew him 
to be, when our acquaintance began ; though he was then 
turned of fifty, and had gone through so many fatigues as well 
as dangers, which could not but leave some traces on his coun- 
tenance. He was tall, I suppose something more than six foot, 
well proportioned, and strongly built : His eyes of a dark grey, 
and not very large ; his forehead pretty high ; his nose of a 
length and height no way remarkable, but very well suited to 
his other features ; his cheeks not very prominent, his mouth 
moderately large, and his chin rather a little inclining when 
T knew him to be peaked. He had a strong voice, and lively 
accent ; with an Air very intrepid, yet attempered with much 
gentleness : And there was something in his manner of address 
most perfectly easy and obliging, which was in a great measure 
the result of the great candor and benevolence of his natural 
temper ; and which, no doubt, was much improved by the 
deep humility, which divine grace had wrought into his heart ; 
as well as his having been accustomed, from his early youth, to 
the company of persons of distinguished rank and polite be- 


No. ir. 





O animating a subject as the death of such a man, in such 
circumstances, has occasioned a great deal of poetry. Some 
of this has already been published ; especiall}', one large com- 
position, said to be done by a worthy clergyman in Lincoln- 
sliire, in which there are many excellent lines and noble senti- 
ments: But 1 rather chuse to refer to the piece itself, than to 
insert any extracts from it here. It may be more expedient to 
oblige my reader with the following copy of verses, and an 
elegiac poem, composed by two of my valuable friends, whose 
names are annexed. I could not presume to attempt any thing 
of this kind myself ; because I knew, that nothing, I was capable 
of writing, could properly express my sense of his worth, or 
describe the tenderness of my friendship ; the sentiments of 
■which, will, as I assuredly believe, mingle themselves with the 
last ideas, which pass through my mind in this world, and, per- 
haps, with some of the first, which may open upon it in that, 
which is to come. 




Ouis desidevio sit pudor, aut modus. 

Tarn chari capitis ? Hox, 

COULD piety perpetuate human breath, 
Or shield one mortal from the shafts of death, 
Thou ne'er, illustrious man ! thou ne'er hadst been 
A pallid corpse on Preston's fatal plain. 
Or could her hand, though impotent to save 
Consummate worth, redeem it from the grave. 
Soon would thy urn resign its sacred trust. 
And recent life re-animate thy dust. 


But vain the wish. — Tlie savage hand of war — - 
Oh how shall words the mournful tale declare ! 
Too soon the news afflicted friendship hears, 
Too soon, alas, conhrnn'd her boding fears. 

Struck with the sound, unconscious of redress» 
She felt thy wounds, and wept severe distress. 
A while dissolv'd'in truceless grief she lay, 
And mourn'd the event of that unhappy day, 
Which left thee to relentless rage a prey. 

At length kind fame suspends our heaving sighs^^ 
And wipes the sorrows from our flowing eyesj 
Gives us to know, thine exit well sapply'd 
Those blooming laurels, victory deny'd. 
When thy great soul suppressed each timid moan. 
And soarVl triumphant in a dying groan, 
Thy fall, which rais'd, now calms each wild complaintj^ 
Thy fall, which join'd the hero to the saint. 

As o'er the expiring lamp the quivering flame 
Collects its lustre in a brigliter gleam. 
Thy virtues, glimmering on the verge of night. 
Through the dim shade diffus'd celestial hght ; 
A radiance, death or time can ne'er destroj'. 
The auspicious omen of eternal joy. 

Hence every unavailing grief! No more 
As hapless, thy removal we deplore. 
Thy gushing veins, in every drop they bleed^ 
Of patriot warriors shed the fruitful seed. 
Soon shall the ripen'd harvest rise in arms 
To crush rebellion's insolent alarms. 

While prosperous moments sooth'd through life his way, 
Conccal'd from public view the hero lay : 
But when afRiction clouded his decline, 
Ir not eclips'd, but made his honours shine ; 
Gave them to beam conspicuous from the gloom. 
And plant unfading trophies round his tomb. 

So stars are lost, amidst the blaze of day ; 
But when the sun withdraws his golden ray, 
Refulgent through the aetherial arch they roll, 
And gtid the wide expanse from pole to pole. 





Who zvas Slain by Ike Rebel-Forces, Sept. 21, 1745, in the fatal Action at Frtston- Pans. 

Nam, dum duelli Isetior, hostica 
Opprobriorum murmura vindice 

Excusat ense, baibaramm 

Immortuus aggeribus cohortum ; 
Prassecta tandem colla volubili 
Lapsu reclinat, Sed famuli pi'ope 

Decusque, prjesignisque virtus, 

Semianimem subiere dextri : 
Mox, expeditis corpore manibus, 
Deprceliatrix gloria siderum 

Occuirit, et fulvo reclinans 

Ire jubet super astra curru. Casimir. 

COME, Melancholy, from the stony cave, 
The scoop of time for thee has made. 

Under the broad clifi's shade. 
Upon the naked shore. 
Where warring tempests roar 
In concert with the hoarse resounding wave : 
Come, bnt with solemn gait, 
With trickling eyes. 
And heavy sighs. 
And all the escutcheon'd pomp of fate ; 
And bring with thee the cypress, and the yew. 
All bath'd and dropping with the mortal dew, 
To this sequester'd bower ; 
And let the midnight hour 
Be hung in deeper glooms by thee. 
And bid each gay idea flee : 
While all the baleful images of woe, 
That haunt the marble buist, 
Or hover round sepulchred dust. 
With conscious horrors all my soul o'erflow. 
For 'tis no vulgar death 
Urania means to mourn ; 
But in a doleful strain 
She bids the harp complain. 
And hangs the funeral wreath 
On Gardiner's awful urn. 



Gardiner, -what various fame 
For ever crowns thy name ! 
Nor is it possible to say, 
Or if the saint's, or hero's ray 
Shone brightest in that blended blaze, 
That form'd thine ample round of praise. 
Like Moses on the sacred hill, 
How hast thou stood with pleading eyes, 
Outstretching hands, and fervent cries, 
Unwearied wrestler with the skies! 
Till heaven, responsive to thy will, 
Would all thy largest wishes fill ; 
T^ill the high-brandish'd bolt aside was thrown, 
And the full blessing stream'd in silver murmurs down. 
Nor less a Joshua, than a Moses, thou ; 
For oft in liberty's high strife 
Hast thou expos'd thy generous life. 
And with impatient ardors on thy brow, 
Rush'd foremost in the horrid van of fight, 
Driving the troops of tyranny to flight. 
Unshaken in the noble cause. 
To pluck her bloody fangs, and break her iron jaws. 

When Anna sent her chosen chief. 

Victorious Marlborough, 
To Europe's groans to give relief 

In Bourbon's overthrow ; 
Renown'd Ramilia's tented field. 
Where Gallia dropt her idle shield. 
And to the British standard kneel'd, 

Beheld young Gardiner there. 
Young Gardiner, where the combat mow'd 
The falling ranks, and widely strow'd 

Destruction and despair. 
Wielded serene his youthful arms, 
And, kindling at the dire alarms. 

Enjoy 'd the raging war : 
But here, (for steel and flying shot 
Fall chiefly to the hero's lot,) 
Swift through his lips the glancing bullet rung, 
His lips, on which the unfinish'd oath was hung ; 

Nor stopt its wing'd impetuous force 
Till through the neck it plough'd its angry course. 


Amazing thought ! that they who life expose, 
Where all the thunder of the battle glows, 

Who see pale death triumphant ride 

Upon the crimson's surging tide, 

Scattering his shafts on every side, 
In blasphemy and proud contempt should rise, 
And hurl their mad defiance to the skies ; 

Whither a moment may convey 
Their souls, dislodging from their quivering clay, 
To take their last inexorable doom, 
Loaded with deathless pains, and long despair to come. 

Such Gardiner was in early youth ; 

And though the warrior's rays 
Beam'd round his head, celestial truth 

He spurn'd, and scorn'd her ways: 
And, though the Almighty arm was near. 
Made his endanger'd life its care. 

And heal'd the burning sores; 
Yet vice, collecting with his strength, 
Soon, soon bursts out in wilder length. 

And like a torrent roars. 
Now in the wide enchanting bowl 
The hero melts his manly soul ; 
And now he blots the shades of night 
With blacker scenes of lewd delight : 
Anon in sport he lifts his brow to heaven. 

And swears by the eternal name ; 
Asks, that the bolt may on his head be driven, 

And courts the lagging flame. 
So Pharaoh, when the feverish blains 

No more emboss'd his flesh. 
Nor shot infection through his veins, 

Assum'd his rage a-fresh ; 

And hard, grew harder still. 

And propp'd on his wild will, 
Set up the standard of his pride, 
Curs'd Israel's God and King, and all his plagues dcfyM. 

But, muse, in softer notes relate, 
For softer notes upon thee wait, 
How Gardiner, when his youth had rang'd 
These guilty scenes, to heaven estrang'd, 
Paus'd in his mid career, and was divinely chang'd. 

O 2 


That God, whose piercing radiance darts 

O'er all our Avays, and all our hearts, 
The bold transgressor from his throne survey'd, 
And thus in accents breathing mildness said : 
** Go, mercy, charg'd Avith my supreme command, 
** Thou fairest daughter thron'dat my right hand, 

" Go wing thy downward race, 
" And stop that rebel in his furious way ; 
" His heart shall thy victorious call obey, 

" And take the willing stamp of grace : 
*' For never can thy call successless prove, 
''•-When urg'd with the Redeemer's boundless love." 

He spoke ; and gave the Almighty nod, 

The sanction ot" the eternal God ; 
At once the joyful news is propagated round, 

Loud anthems from the golden roofs rebound. 
And heaven's high crystal domes remurmur with the sound. 

Mercy obeys ; and from the empyreal height 

Precipitates her glittering flight ; 
A starry circle sparkled round her head, 
And a wide rainbow o'er her progress spread. 
Muse, sing the wondrous plan, 
And sing the wondrous hour. 
In which the Sovereign power 
The Almighty work began, 
And signalizM her arm, and triumph'd o'er the man. 
Bent on adultrous shame 
The sinner she beheld ; 
His bosom burnt with guilty flame, 
And at the future joy in secret raptures swell'd : 
Enrag'd he curs'd the lazy moon 

In her nocturnal tour, 
That thought his bliss would come too soon. 

And clogg'd the midnight hour. 
*Twasthen, when lust's malignant sway 
Had stifled conscience' pang, and smother'd reasons ray, 
That mercy stept between 
The adulterer, and his sinful scene ; 
And painted on his mental sight, 
Dress'd round in beams divinely bright. 
The Saviour stretch'd upon the tree. 
In purple sweats, and dying agony : 


(Such was the vision, and the blaze the same, 

That Saul, intent on murders, saw, 
When Jesus, speaking from the radiant flame, 
O'erwhelm'd his conscious soul with awe ;) 
Then thus a voice arrests his ear : 
*♦ See Gardiner, see thy Saviour here ! 
*' What, was this wood 
*' Wash'd in my blood, 
** And was I gash'd with wounds for thee, 
" And can'st thou plunge new Avounds in me r" 
O'erpowr'd Avith vast surprise, 
A prisoner of the skies 
The swooning champion falls. 
And fear, that never yet his soul had shook, 
Bedews his limbs, glares wild upon his look. 

And all his soul appals : 
But half the agony was unfulfill'd, 
Till mercy from her crystal urn instill'd 

Fierce on his heart three burning drops,* 
Drops that from Sinai came. 
From Sinai, where the Almighty thunderer forms 
His shafted lightnings, and his bolted storms. 
And from whose boiling tops 
The wild sulphureous surge runs down in liquid flame. 
Stung with the unsufferable smart. 

That fester'd at his heart, 
Gardiner awakes, and round he throws 
His ghastly eyes, and scarce he knows. 
Or if he lives in nature's midnight gloom, 
Or, clos'd in hell's unfathomable womb, 
Black, o'er his head eternal horrors roll. 
And the keen gnawing worm devours his inmost soul. 

But when his wandering thought had found 

Himself a tenant of the ground. 
Still, still his conscience felt the flaming wound. 

Sudden before his prospect glows 

The everlasting gulf of woes ; 
From the o'erhanging brink he seems to bend, 

The brink, that crumbled as he stood, 

And nodded o'er the dreadful flood, 
And down in headlong ruin to descend 
To the broad burning waves, and pains that never end. 

* See Milton's Paradise Lost, B. xi. L.416. 


He turns; butab! no friendly hand, 
Nor spark of glimmering hope, appears 
Amidst the raging torment of his fears ; 
But, outlaw'd from the realms of shining bliss. 
He thinks he feels the unextinguish'd fires, 
A waving waste of blue ascending spires. 
And plunges in the bottomless abyss : 
For, oh ! his sins in crouding numbers stand, 
And each tempts vengeance from the Almighty hand ; 
But fiercer o'er the rest ingratitude appears, 
That scorn'd the Saviour's love, and flaming horrors wears. 
But while in sad confusion toss'd. 
And tortur'd with despair 
He doom'd his soul for ever lost. 
The bright aetherial Fair, 
For 'twas her kind design 
Not to destroy, but to refine. 
Amidst the darkness and the storms 
Her sacred embassy performs ; 
For guilt display'd in all its frightful dyes, 
And crimson'd over with redeeming blood. 
Draws out the rolling anguish from his eyes. 
And all his stubborn soul with low submission bow'd. 
'Tis done: O miracle of love ! 
Not minds below, nor minds above, 
Great God, can trace thy mystic ways, 
And pay the equal note of praise. 
'Tis done: And now with outstretch'd wings 
Back to the skies the radiant power withdrew ; 

And, as her mounting path she springs. 
The silver trump of victory she blows. 
In stronger dyes her arch refulgent glows. 
And a far streaming glory tracks the ffitherial blue. 

At once abjuring all his sins, 
Gardiner the heavenly life begins. 
And pleads the honours of his God 
With irresistible defence 
Against the colour'd arts of eloquence. 
Though clouded with his Maker's frown, and crush'd beneath 
his rod. 
But quickly a celestial ray 
Shot o'er his so^^l unclouded day, 


And balmy dews, and cheering fruits were given, 

The early antepast of heaven. 

And now what equal words shall paint 

How Gardiner, freed from tyrant lusts, 

Nor longer toss'd in passion's gusts, 

Felt, spoke, and acted all the saint ? 
That holy name, which he profan'd before. 
Behold him now with suppliant knee adore ; 
At morn and evening his devotions rise. 
Like clouds of incense climbing to the skies : 

No more the grape's nectareous juice 

Could tempt beyond a prudent use ; 

No wanton speech defil'd his tongue ; 

No deed design'd his neighbour wrong ; 

But the fair streams of innocence, 

And nnconfin'd benevolence, 
O'er all his life uninterrupted ran, 
And through their crystal mirrors shew'd the man. 

The numerous charactei's he bore 

With a distinguish'd praise he wore, 
And subject, soldier, husband, parent, friend. 
He well sustain'd, and fill'd them to the end. 

Now with seraphic transports fir'd. 

The pinions of his zeal aspir'd. 
Scarce patient till he broke the mortal shell. 
And bid this empty scene, and dusky globe, farewell. 
Heaven was his home, and to his home he bent, 
And ere the rounds of fated life were spent. 
Thither his passions would divinely roll, 
The swift wdng'd heralds of his coming soul. 
Peace at his tent would often light, and sing, 
And shed the dewy blessings from her wing ; 
And rills, devolving from the fount above, 
Pour'd o'er his heart ecstatic life and love. 

Thus Gardiner liv'd ; till from the gloomy North, 
Rebellion, grasping large and steely arms, 
Rush'd, like a mountain boar, impetuous forth, 
And shook our realms with horrible alarms ; 
Rebellion aiming at one wasteful sway 
To strike the diadem from Brunswick's head, 
Tear liberty, and all her mounds away. 
And popery's o'erwhelming horrors spread. 


The news to Gardiner came. 
And fann'd the noble flame, 
Which pure religion, heaven-born liberty, 
And dauntless fortitude had rais'd ; 
And, as the gathering terrors thunder'd nigh, 
With a redoubled strength the mounting fervors blaz'd. 
What, though distemper had subdu'd his limbs, 
And age defrauded half the purple streams, 
That bloom'd his features o'er, 
When in rebellion's storm before. 
He, rising in the glorious cause 
Of George's rights, and Britain's laws, 
Swept down the traitorous files, and Preston swam with gore ? 
Yet his unbroken soul disdains 
Age's dull load of cramps and pains ; 
His youthful rage returns. 
And for the battle burns : 
Then, springing from Francissa's tender arms, 
Dissolv'd in flowing tears, 
O'erwhelm'd with boding fears, 
And only solac'd Avith the view. 
That heaven their friendship would renew ; 
He, in the unshaken confidence of prayer. 
Sways the keen flame of his revenging sword 
For his eternal, and his earthly Lord, 
Serenely meets the danger's wild alarms. 
Plants his embattled force, and waits the rushing war. 
So Michael *, bent on glorious fight. 
Against Satanic rage and might. 
Came towering to the field ; 
Unconscious of a quivering fear. 
He saw the foe his dusky horrors rear. 
Wave his broad flaming sword, and heave his moony shield. 

Not far from where Edina lifts 

Her towers into the skies, 
Or where the ocean-bounding clifts 

In clouded summits rise, 
Preston extends her humble cots, 

Long, long unknown to fame, 
But flying routs, and purple spots 

Have stamp'd the eternal shame. 
Here, here, (Oh ! could time's brazen pen 

Dash the reproach away, 

* Milton's Paradise Lost, B. vi. L. 255. 


Or, as the clay returns again, 

Might midnight choak its ray ! 
Britannia's troops in vain 

Oppos'd the rebel-host, 
And fled inglorious o'er the plain, 
Their courage wither'd, and their standards lost. 
Muse, paint the doleful scene 
With sighs and tears between ; 
For sighs and tears shall rise 
From every British heart, and gush from all our eyes : 
Swift on the British van 
The yelling furies ran. 
Like the wild ocean that has rent 
Its shores, and roars along the Continent ; 
Or the wing'd lightning's livid glare 
Darting along the immeasur'd fields of air. 
Confounded at the shock. 
The yielding squadrons broke : 
And now, for hell inspir'd the throng, 
The gloomy murderers rush'd along ; 
And fierce the steely blade 
Its horrid circles play'd, 
Till hideous cries. 
Quivering sighs, 
Hopeless steams, 
Batter'd limbs, 
Bloody streams, 
And universal rout deform'd the ground, 
Laid waste the British strength, and the wide Champaign 

*' Come on, come on," mad Elcho cries, 
And for his murders thanks the skies, 
(While the Italian from afar, 
Too soft a soul to mix in war, 
Enjoying all the guilt, beheld 
His bloody harpies tear the field,) 
" Ply, ply the thirsty steel, 
** Round the full vengeance wheel ; 
*' Each heretic must yield his breath, 
*' That for the Hanoverian brood 
*' Or lifts a sword, 
" Or speaks a word ; 


** Come, gorge your souls with death, 
*' And drown your steps in blood : 
*' Think, think what bhssful periods roll behind, 
" Let London's mighty plunder fill your mind, 
** When boundless wealth shall be with boundless empire 

Gardiner, with mind elate 

Above the rage of fate. 

His country's bulwark stood 
'Midst broken lines of death, and rising waves of blood. 

His soul disdains retreat, 

Though urg'd by foul defeat ; 
Now to his scattering friends he calls, 
To wheel again and charge the foe ; 
Now hurls the wide destroying balls, 

NoAv deals the vengfeful blow. 

Forsaken and alone, 

And torn Avith gashing wounds, 
He hears the treasonous shout, he hears the loyal groan ; 
But nought the purpose of his soul confounds : 

And still with new delisrht 


He tempts the midnight fight, 
ProppM on his sacred cause, and courage of his own. 
The embattled ranks of foot he spies 

Without a leading chief, 
And, like a shooting ray, he flies 

To lend his brave relief. 
Here the broad weapon's forceful swa}". 

Swung with tempestuous hand, 
Plough'd through his flesh its furious way, 
And stretch'd him on the strand. 
Weltering in gore with fiery fiends beset, 

The dying Gardiner lies ; 
No gentle hand to wipe the mortal sweaty 
And close his swimming eyes. 
The unrelenting crew 
The hero disarray'd ; 
But struck at his majestic view, 

Their souls were half dismay'd : 
And, had not hell instamp'd his hate, 
Their stony eye-bails o'er his fate 
Had stream'd with human Avoe ; for, heavenly niild, 
He o'er their fiend-like forms the Christian pardon smil'd. 


But not a tear must bathe, or garment shield 
His mangled limbs from sight, 
Down-trodden in the fiorht : 
While his fair mansion, that o'er tops the field, 
The naked murder sees, and trembles from its height. 
Still the departing flame of life 
Play'd quivering in a doubtful strife ; 
Till, such his faithful servant's cai"e, 
(May heaven's distinguish'd goodness crown 
The goodness to his master shewn !) 
The wheels slow moving, from the scenes of war. 

To Tranent bore the expiring chief. 
In sullen sounds remurmuring to his grief. 
Urania, mark the melancholy road, 
And with thy tears efface the scattering blood ; 
Nor stop, till on the late reposing bed 
(Oh ! rather 'tis the funeral bier !) 
You see the hero's pallid body spread. 
And his last anguish hear, 
Half-choak'd with clotted gore. 
He draws the hollow moan ; 
Flitting his pulse, and fix'd his eyes, 
All pale and motionless he lies. 

And seems to breathe no more. 

Oh ! that's the life-dissolving groan : 
Farewel, dear man ! for in that pang, thy mind 
Soars to its God, and leaves the clog behind. 

Gardiner is dead 1 — The bloody trump of fame 

Proclaim'd the mighty death ; 
In every look the posting rumour came. 

And flew on every breath. 
The widow'd partner of his life 

The doleful tidings hears, 
And, silent in stupendous grief, 

Her eyes refuse their tears : 
Oppress'd beneath the immeasurable weight. 

Her spirit faints away. 
As, sympathetic with the hero's fate, 

It meant to quit its clay. 

The pledges of his love 

Their filial duty prove, 
P 2 


And each with tender hands upreavs, 
With hands all coverM o'er in tears. 
Their mother's sinking head ; 
And groan resounds to groan, 
For oh ! the hest of husbands gone, 
The best of Fathers dead ! 
But Gardiner's death is more than private woe ; 
Wide and more wide the increasing sorrows run, 
O'er British lands unlimited they go, 
And fl^' across the seas, and travel with the sun. 
Religion, that from heaven had bow'd 
To watch the scale of fight, 
When holy Gardiner fell, 
Who lov'd, and who adorn'd her cause so well, 
Retir'd behind behind a crimson cloud, 
Nor could sustain the sioht. 
Britannia, where she sate 
Upon the sea beat shore 
To eye the battle's fate, 
Her silver mantle tore : 
Then thus, her blushing honours wann'd, 
Her sceptre quivering in her hand. 
Her laurels withered, and her head dechn'd, 
Ten thousand terrors boding in her mind, 
She to the deep in bitter wailings griev'd. 
While her fall'n helm the trickling drops receiv'd : 
" What havoc of my martial force 
" Has this sad morn beheld, 
** Torn, gash'd, and heap'd without remorse 

" Upon the naked field ? 
*' But Gardiner's death afflicts me most, 
*' Than whom a chief I could not boast 
" More faithful, vigilant and brave ; 
" And should across his grave 
*' An hetacomb of Highland-Brutes be slain, 
*'' They could not recompense liis injur'd ghost, 
" Nor fully quench my rage, and wipe away my stain.'* 

But see, in splendid state 

Cherubic convoys come. 
And waft the hero from his fate 

To his celestial home. 
Now, now he sails along, 
Encircled with their throng, 


The throng, that clap their manthng wings, 
And to loud triumphs strike their strings, 
Through li(]uid seas of day 
Ploughing the azure way, 

Till to the starry towers the squadrons rise. 

Tiie starry towers, thick sown with pearl and gold, 
Their adamantine leaves unfold, 

And shew the entrance to the empyreal skies : 
Through them our hero mark'd his road, 
And through the wheeling ranks of heaven 
An unobstructed path was given, 

Till he attained the eternal throne of God ; 

A throne array'd in uncreated beams, 

And from its footstool rolling blissful streams. 

Well hast thou done, the Almighty Father spoke ; 

Well hast thou done, the exalted Jesus cry'd ; 

Well hast thou done, all heaven the Euge took, 

The saints and angels in their songsreply'd. 
And now a robe of spotless white. 
But where the Saviour's flowing vein 
Had blush'd it with a sanguine stain. 
Invests him round : In various hght 
(For such was the divine command,) 

Refulgent on his brows a crown was placM ; 

And a triumphal palm his better hand 
With golden blossoms grac'd. 
Nigh to the seat of bliss 
His mansion was assignM ; 
Sorrow and sin forsook his breast. 
His weary soul was now at rest, 
And life, and love, and ecstasies 
Unbound his secret powers, and overflow'd his mind. 

Nor has thy life, heroic man, been spilt 
Without a wrath proportion'd to the guilt : 

Enkindled by the cries that rose 

From thy dear sacred blood, with those 
That shriek'd for vengeance from the brave Munroe?, 

Who fell a martyr'd sacrifice 

To cool inhuman butcheries. 
Heaven sends its angel righteously severe. 
And from the foe exacts the last arrear. 

For when the barbarous bands, 
Thick as the swarms that blackened Egypt's strands, 


And furious as the winter's rushing rains, 

Impell'd by whirlwinds through the plains 

Had o'er our country roU'd, 
Young William rose, auspicious name, 
Sacred to liberty and fame ! 

And their mad rage controU'd. 
Back to their hills and bogs they fled, 
(For terror wing'd their nimble speed,) 
And howl'd for help in vain : 
William pursu'd, and launch'd his vengeful ire, 
(As o'er the stubble runs the crackling fac,) 
Upon the groveling train : 
Shuddering with horror and despair 
With bellowing pain they rend the air, 
Till Culloden's illustrious moor 
Groan'd with the Ijeaps of slain, and smoak'd with rebel-gore. 
Then, muse, forego thy swelling sighs, 
And wipe the anguish from thine eyes ; 
Sing, how rebellion has receiv'd its doom. 
How Gardiner dwells in his eternal home. 
And in each British heart has rais'd a lasting tomb. 


No. lit. 




W HILE I was endea\'oiirin£r to do justice to the memory of 
that excellent man, and most beloved friend, whose memoirs I 
have now concluded ; and was mentionin<^, in the course of iny 
narration, the tragical consequences, which the unnatural rebel- 
lion, by which he fell, had drawn along with it, and the many 
other valuable persons, of which it had also deprived iis ; I 
could not but particular!}^ reflect on the awful catastrophe of 
Sir Robert Munro, and his two brothers, the Captain, and the 
Doctor ; who all, within the compass of eight months, and in 
less than twelve after the death of Colonel Gardiner, (with 
whom they were all accjuainted, and to whom they were allied 
in the bonds of a virtuous and honourable friendship,) fell a sa- 
crifice to the rage and cruelty of the same savage destro3^ers. — 
I was desirous of interweaving so remarkable a piece of historv, 
with a subject, to which it was, alas ! so nearly connected : 
And therefore 1 applied myself to a person of high rank most 
nearly related to them, on whose information I was sure I might 
entirely depend ; intreating the favour of such an account of 
tiiese three excellent brothers, and of the circumstances of their 
death, as I might safely and properly offer to the view of the 

This honourable person referred me to a gentleman, well 
acquainted with the history of the family of the Munroes of 
Fowlis, and possessed of a distinct historical account of it, taken 
from the annals, which have been kept of that family for many 
ages past, and from the old writs, charters, and other authentic 
deeds belonging to it, which are the vouchers of these annals. 

This gentleman was pleased to favour me with a pretty 
large historical account of his family, beginning it much higher. 


and carrying it through a much wider extent, than I could have 
expected from the particular view, with which I first requested 
information. 1 next obtained instructions on the same sub- 
ject from a gentleman at London 1 was then furnished with 

a particular relation from another gentleman, a \no\is minister 
of the church of Scotland, with whom I have the happiness of 
being well acquainted. And as all these are persons of such a 
character, that none, who know them, can question the veracity 
and testimony of each, so they were each of them happy in a 
most intimate acquaintance with all the three brothers, after 

whom I enquired. And last of all, I received from a fourth 

gentleman, an historical account of this family from the most 
early times •, which, by the date it bears, was compiled a great 
many years ago, and which, it seems, was intended to have been 
published in an historical account of some of the ancient fami- 
lies of Scotland ; which work became abortive through the 
death of the author. 

When I compared these several accounts, as I received 
them from time to time, it gave me great satisfaction to find 
them all agree, and tally so exactly, in their accounts of this 

family, and of the three excellent brothers last deceased. 

On an attentive perusal of these informations, I found they 
contained, what was too curious and important to be lost, and 
yet too long to be inserted in the memoirs of Colonel Gardiner, 
without breakingthe unity of design in a manner, that would have 

proved inconvenient. 1 concluded therefore, that (especially 

as those memoirs were finished, before some of these papers 
came to my hands,) it would be best to present it to the world 
in a distinct piece, connected by way of appendix to the former. 
And I feel a most sensible pleasure in the addition, I am hereby 
making to the work ; as it is paying some little debt of grati- 
tude to the illustrious dead ; and, at the same time, doing a just 
honour to the surviving branches of a family, from whence so 
many heroes have sprung, and of which there are still, though 
after much sad desolation made in it, most worthy remains. 
And I hope, that it may not only entertain my readers with 
some remarkable facts worthy of commemoration, but excite in 
their breasts something of the same generous spirit, to which 
nothing can more powerfully instigate the mind, than the view 
of such glorious examples. 

'^I'he family of the Munroes of Fowlis is among the most 
ancient and honourable families in the north of Scotland, and has 
generally been remarkable for a brave, martial, and heroic 
ijpirit. It is mentioned by Buchanan with a memorable testi- 



mony*, when after speaking of the difficulties, in which Mar}'' 
Queen of Scots was involved at Inverness, he adds, " That as 
soon as they heard of their sovereign's danger, a great number 
of the ancient Scots poured in around her, especially the Frasers 
and Munroes ; which, says he, were esteemed among the most 
valiant of the clans inhabiting those countries." And, how well 
the latter have ever since continued to deserve that character, 
the following memoirs, brief as they are, may in some degree 

The Munroes of Fowlis have, in every one of their genera- 
tions, been intermarried with many of the best families of no- 
bility and gentry in the north of Scotland. And it is yet more 
for their honour, that they were among the first in those parts, 
that embraced the reformation, and have ever since been zealous 
asserters of it. And many of them have not only given great 
countenance and encouragement to the ministers of the gospel 
in the parishes under their influence, in consequence of which, a 
great harvest of most eminent Christians hath been produced 
there; -but also have themselves been signal examples of true 
piety, and a beiiaviour in all its branches most ornamental to a 

Christian profession. 1 fear, there have been few families, to 

which such a character can be universally applied : But it is 
certain, that so far as it is the case, it is the most illustrious of 
all hereditary honours ; and therefore seems to have been men- 
tioned with the utmost propriety by my several correspondents 
in this connection. 

According to Buchanan, it was in the beginning of the 
eleventh century, and about the time of the conquest in England, 
when Malcolm II. of that name. King of Scots, first distributed, 
or as it is expressed, J eu-ed out ov fee-ed, the lands of Scotland 
to the great families thereof, on account of their eminent services 
in his many battles with the Danes, until he forced them quite 
out of his kingdom. And according to tradition, it was on that 
occasion, that the country betwixt the borough of Dingwall and 
the water of Alness, in the shire of Ross, was given to Donald 
Munro ; and which is therefore to this day called Ferrindonald, 
that is, Donald's Land. And part of these lands were afterwards 
by the king erected into a barony, called the Barony of Fowlis. 

I shall not follow the annals of this famil}'^ so far, as to enter- 
tain the public with a detail of the barons of Fowlis in their 

* Audito piinoipis periculo, magna priscorum Scotonim multitudo affuit, im- 
primis Fraseni ct Munroii, hominum fortissimorum in illis geiitibus familiae. Buchan, 
Hiit. Lib. xvii. p. G18. 



several generations through these early ages ; but shall begin 
my particular narration of them, only from the time they be- 
came protestants, when their brave behaviour and example will 
afford us more instruction, and the facts concerning them may 
be depended on with more certainty. And therefore I shall 
only before that time observe, 

That George IX. Baron* of Fowlis, (in a direct lineal 
descent from the above Donald, the first Baron,) was slain at the 
memorable battle of Bannock-burn, fought by King Robert 
Bruce of Scotland, against Edward II. of England, in the year 

13 J 4. George X. Baron of Fowlis, and son of the former, 

was also slain with a great many of his name at the battle 
of Halydon-HiJl, near Berwick ; in which battle the Scots 
were defeated by the English, and a great number of them 
killed, on the 22d of July, A. D. 1333 Robert Munro, 

XVII. Baron of Fowlis, was slain at the battle of Pinkie near 
Edinburgh, with many of his name; where the Scots were 
again defeated by the English, and a great number of them 
killed, A. D. 1547. 1 mention the fall of these three gentle- 
men with their friends and followers, fighting valiantly in the 
cause of their country, as illustrating the valour and bravery 
of this family in their different generations, and shewing, how 
justly they merited the character which Buchanan gives them 
in the place before cited. How long this brave spirit has con- 
tinued, as it were, hereditary to them, will appear from what 

The first protestant of this family was Robert Munro, the 

XVIII. Baron ofFowhs, son to Robert last mentioned, and the 
same, who came to the assistance of Mary Queen of Scots upon 
the occasion before cited, A. D. 1562. He embraced the pro- 
testant religion quickly after ; and being a wise and a good 
man, he left an opulent estate to the family, and died A. D. 
1588. He was suceeded by his son Robert Munro, XIX. 

* It is to be observed, 1st, That baron in Scotland does not import nobility, 
as it does now in England: For at the time the lands of Scotland were divided as 
above, there were then no nobility in that nation j but the great families had their 
estates erected into baronies, with a jurisdiction over all the vassals, tenants, and 
possessors thereof; which was the origin and support of the clans in Scotland, these 
being the only military force in that kingdom, until, upon the union of the two 
crowns in the person of King James VI. of Scotland, regular troops were introduced 
into that kingdom. — To this I would add, 2dly, That the annals of this familj- con- 
tain a genealogical account of all the Barons of Fowlis, from the above Donald 
Munro to this present time. Several of these can only be transmitted to us by 
tradition: But as to those whom I have mentioned, there is full evidence of the facts 
concerning them from the old writs, charters, and deeds in the family of Fowlis ; 
and even several others of them, whom I have not mentioned, are taken notice of in 
these old writs. 


- Baron of Fowlis, Avho died the same year with his father. 

The next to him was his brother, Hector Munro, XX. Baron 

of Fowhs, who died A, D. 1603. Robert Munro, his son, 

succeeded him, the XXI. Baron of Fowhs, who flourished when 
Gustavus Adolphus, that justly celebrated King of Sweden, 
whose religion and valour were so distinguished among his 
many religious and valiant cotemporaries, was engaged in a 
protestant war against the Emperor Ferdinand II. in defence of 
the civil as well as sacred liberties of Germany. The ge- 
nerous heart of this worthy gentleman was so struck with a 
regard to the common cause, in which he himself had no con- 
cern, but what piety and virtue gave him, that he joined Gustavus 
with a very great number of his friends, who bore his own name. 
Many of them gained great reputation in this war; and that of 
Robert their leader was so eminent, that he was made Colonel of 
two regiments at the same time, the one of horse, and the other 
of foot, in that service ; in which he acquitted himself with so 
much fidelity and zeal, that he died of the wounds which he 
received in crossing the Danube, and was buried at Ulm, in the 
month of March, 1633. 

He was succeeded by Sir Hector Munro, XXII. Baron of 
Fowlis, the next male heir of the family, * who was also Colonel 
of a regiment in the same service ; and upon his coming over to 
Britain, was created a baronet in June, 1633. Returning after- 
wards to Germany, he died at Hamburgh, in April, 1635.—— 
His son. Sir Hector Munro, was XXIII. Baron of Fowlis, who 
died without issue in the year 1651, at seventeen years of age. 
Sir Robert Munro, XXIV. Baron of Fowlis, succeeded as the 
nearest male heir, being grandson to George Munro of Obsdale, 
who was third son to Robert Munro, the XVIII. Baron of Fowlis. 
My information imports, that in the before-mentioned 
annals of this family, there is a well attested list of officers, of 
which I have a copy in the memorial last sent me, wherein there 
are three Generals, eight Colonels, five Lieutenant Colonels, 
eleven Majors, and above thirty Captains, all of the name of 
Munro ; besides a great number of subalterns. Most of these 
were in that religious war under the great Gustavus Adolphus ; 
and some of the descendants of this family are at this day in the 
possession of considerable military commands in Sweden, and 

various parts of Germany. 

* It was formerly the custom in Scotland, and is so still among ancient fami- 
lies, to entail the succession of their family estate to the nearest male relation of the 
jleceased, passing by the femaleSj thereby to presence their estate in their own name 
and family. 

Q 2 


General Robert Munro (who was uncle to Sir Robert, the 
XXIV. Baron of Fowlis, pubHshed in the year 1644, an ac- 
count of this rehgious war under Gustavus Adolphus, in a foHo 
volume, intitled, " Military Discipline learned from the valiant 
Swede :" A book, of which, though I never happened to see it, 
I have heard a high character I am informed, that it contains 
an exact journal of that expedition into Germany for the relief 
of the distressed protestants; and, it is said, to be filled with 
most excellent observations on military affairs, delivered in a 
strain of piety, which seems to breathe the spirit of its brave 
and worthy author. And, indeed, by what I have heard of that 
instructive history, it is hard to say, when there has been, even 
in the Christian Morld, so religious and so well disciplined an 
army, as this; at the head of which, a mysterious Providence 
permitted that royal hero and martyr, the great Gustavus, to 
fall. Would to God, the time might at length come, when our 
commanders shall take their lessons from it ; at least, so far, as 
to learn from the example of some of the bravest and greatest 
of men, to maintain in the military bodies under their command, 
the authority of the Lord of Hosts ; and particularly, that reve- 
rence for his name, and for his day, which was there so beauti- 
fully and gloriously conspicuous ! 

This worthy General, in the year 1641, was appointed 
by King Charles I. Major General of the Scotch forces, that 
"were sent to Ireland to suppress the infamous and destructive 
rebellion there. It is not my business here to insist on those 
unhappy circumstances, which so long retarded their march, and 
so greatly obstructed their success. I find, however, that he 
liad at length the honour to be in the number of those, l)y whom 
God gave blood to drink to those miscreants, who had rendered 
themselves so eminently worthy of it by a series of outrages, 
which the most sangumar3' and detestable faction on earth, I 
mean that of popery, has seldom been able to exceed. For in 
the year 1644, this illustrious commander, at the head of 
14,000 of the Scotch and English protestants, fought and de^ 
feated 22,000 of the Irish in Ulster, killed and took many 
thousands of them, and seized on a great quantity of cattle and 
other provisions, of which the protestants were then in great 

The General was a great favourer of the presbyterian inte- 
rest, and among the first who established it in Ireland. He sate 
in their presbyteries and synods ; and adhered to the interest of 
the parliament, till he apprehended they were carrying matters to 
an excessive height against the King: On which he accepted of 



a commission from him, and acted under the Duke of Ormond ; 
to which he was persuaded by his nephew Sir George Munro, of 
whom afterwards, who had always adhered to the interest of 
Charles I. as he afterwards did to that of Charles II. 

In the year 1645, the General was surprised by Colonel 
Monk, before he could draw out his men from their quarters ; 
and he and they were by that means taken prisoners: But he 
continued not long in their hands; for death came and set him 
at lii)erty soon after. 

It is worthy of our notice by the way, that in the year 
1644, Ave find Monk imprisoned by the parliament, for having 
accepted a commission from the king, and acted in consequence 
of it, though before that, he had acted by commission from the 
parliament : And again, in the year 1648, we find him fighting 
for the parliament, against the king : And his surprising and 
taking General Munro, was the first thing that brought him into 
favour with the parliament. For in that reeling time we find 
men of a much better character than Monk, changing sides 
again and again, as they apprehended the one party or the 
other to be in the right, from the many different demands, 
refusals, and concessions, which then happened between them. 

The General was succeeded in his command by Sir George 
Munro, brother to the last mentioned Sir Robert, and both of 
them nephews to General Robert by his brother Colonel John 
Munro, of Obsdale, in the Swedish service : Sir George was 
also bred in that service with his uncle, and afterwards served 
with him in Ireland ; where he arrived to the rank of a Colonel. 
He was made Major-General by King Charles II. and had a 
body of forces under his command at Kendal, when James 
Duke of Hamilton was defeated by Cromwell at Lancaster, 
A. D. 1648. Upon this defeat, Sir George returned to Scot- 
land, and defeated the Earl of Argyle : And afterwards, his 
forces being disbanded by order of the states of Scotland, he 
went to Holland, and joined King Charles II. After whose 
restoration he was made Lieutenant-General, and commander 
in chief in Scotland. 

Sir John Munro, XXV. Baron of Fowlis, succeeded his 
father Sir Robert, A. D. 1668. He was a member of the con- 
vention of the estates of Scotland at the revolution, and a very 
zealous promoter of that happy event. He was no less strenuous 
in asserting presbytery ; and on that account, being also re- 
markable for a large and corpulent stature, he was nick-named 
the presbyterian mortar-piece. His eminent piety and zeal had 
exposed him to great suflferings in the cause of religion, in those 


"unhap})}'' and infamous days, when the best friends to their 
countrv were treated as the worst enemies to the government ; 
and when to be conscientiously sohcitous to depart from evil, 
made so many thousands a prey. Sir John suffered greatly, 
among many others, of whom the world was not worthy : His 
person was doomed to long imprisonment, for no pretended 
cause, but what was found against him in the matters of his 
God : And his estate, which before was considerable, was 
harrassed by severe fines and confiscations ; which reduced it to 
a diminution, much more honourable indeed than any aug- 
mentation could have been, but from which it has not reco- 
vered even to this day. He died A. D. 1696, and was succeeded 
by his son. 

Sir Robert Munro, XXVI. Baron of Fowlis, who succeeded 
his father, was also a pious and benevolent man, and for some 
time a captain: But it pleased God early to deprive him of his 
sight, and to continue him in that condition during the re- 
mainder of his life. Under this calamity, he calmly submitted 
himself to that God, who can shed abroad a far more cheerino- 
light on the soul, than these bodily eyes can admit. Provi- 
dence was pleased to bless him with children, in whom he could 
not but find the highest satisfaction; and whose amiable cha- 
racters, in general, leave no room to doubt of the tenderness and 
respect, with which they would treat so worthy a parent, under 
a distressing calamity, which would naturally move compassion 
even in strangers. There were four of them, who all reached 
maturity of age, and were the heirs of many blessings, though 
Providence suffered three of them to fall almost at once, by 
most unjust and barbarous hands; Sir Robert, Captain George 
Munro, and the Doctor, whose christian name was Duncan: 
Their only sister, married to Mr. Gordon of Ardoch, still 
survives ; an example of profound submission and fortitude, 
mingled with the most tender sensibility of temper. 

Sir Robert Munro, XXVII. Baron of Fowlis, succeeded his 
father, A. D. 1729. He went early from the university to the 
camp, where he served seven years in Flanders ; being some 
time Captain in the royal Scots, before that fatal cessation of 
arms, A. D. 1112; as his late Majesty, with so much pro- 
priety, publicly called it, to which therefore I shall not presume 
to give, either a milder, or a severer name. It was here, that 
Sir Robert contracted that acquaintance and strict friendship 
with good Colonel Gardiner, which ran through the remainder 
of their lives, and of which each was so worthy. On Sir 
Robert's return from Flanders, he was reduced, on account of 


his inflexible opposition in parliament, of which he was then a 
member, to the measures, which the ministry were then taking 
to subvert the succession in the present ro3'al family, and with 
it, no doubt, the protestant religion, of which that family was, 
and is, under God, the firmest barrier. 

My correspondent observes concerning Sir Robert, " That 
he Avas nofed for the countenance, he gave to divine worship, 
both in public and his family, and for the regard, Avhich he 
always expressed to the word of God, and its ministers ;" and 
then adds, *' That he was sincere in his friendship, and full of 
compassion even to the meanest of those around him : And that 
he was remarkable above most, for his activity in the discharge 
of an}^ office of friendship, where he had professed it, and for 
his great exactness in the performance of his promises." 

His military services are particularly worthy of being men- 
tioned here. In the year 1715, He with his clan, in conjunc- 
tion with the Earl of Sutherland, kept the Earl of Seaforth with 
3000 men under his command, from joining the rebel camp at 
Perth, for near two months ; and thereby prevented the Earl of 
Marr from crossing the Forth, till the Duke of Argyle had 
gathered strength sufficient to oppose him. In consequence of 
this, Sir Robert exposed his own country to the fiercest resent- 
ments of the rebels, by whom it was plundered and destroyed ; 
while others, who yet pretended to be friends to the government, 
saved themselves and their lands by capitulations with the 
enemy. Being then made Governor of Inverness, Sir Robert 
kept 400 of his name there, during the rest of that rebellion, 
regularly paid and regimented : And these, together with some 
other clans, well-affected to the interest of the present royal 
family, kept possession of that important pass ; whereby the 
rebels were hindered from making a stand there, when they were 
dislodged from Perth by the Duke of Argyle. 

He was, in the year 1716, made a commissioner of enquiry 
into the forfeited estates of the rebels ; in Avhich he strenuously 
exerted himself, in procuring a number of parishes to be erected 
through the rebel countries, and provided with suitable stipends 
out of the confiscated lands ; whereby the gospel was piieached 
in places, where it had not been preached since the reformation : 
So that some new presbyteries were formed, in countries, where 
the discipline and worship of protestant churches had before, no 
footing. And such was the compassion and humanity, which 
attempered his high courage, that, by his interest with the 
government, he did eminent service to the unfortunate widows 
and children of such, as had to the ruin of their families been 
engaged in the rebellion. 


Sir Robert was thirty years member of parliament by his 
family interest; during which time, he always maintained the 
firmest attachment to the service of his majesty and his royal 
father, and to the religion and liberties of his country. His 
fidelit}' and zeal for these did not need to be purchased, soli- 
cited, or quickened, by personal favours : It continued through 
all this period unshaken and active, though from the ending of 
his commission of enquiry in 1724, till the year 1740, he bad 
no post under the government. He then found, the nation 
was to be involved in a foreign war, the necessity of which was 
generally apprehended and acknowledged : And therefore, 
though his friends thought his merit and experience might have 
pretended to something more, as he had been in the rank of a 
Lieutenant-Colonel 25 years, his heart was too generous, and 
too warm, not to accept of the same commission, which was 
then given him in the highland regiment. This regiment, when 
first formed out of independent highland companies, M'as under 
the command of the luirl of Crawford as its Colonel, who, all 
the while he stood in that relation to it, was abroad, confined 
by the wounds, he had received as a volunteer against the 
Turks. During this time Sir Robert Munro was his lordship's 
Lieutenant-Colonel. Before it went to Flanders, Lord Semple 
■was its Colonel ; but he also being generally absent, and Sir 
Robert an old experienced Officer, the regiment during the 
war was left under his care; and the manner, in which he mo- 
delled and conducted it, will remain in many respects an im- 
mortal honour to his name. 

It is indeed surprising, that a regiment, composed of 
Highlanders, who are generally used to so rapacious a life 
at home, s'lould yet by discipline, have been brought to 
so good a behaviour, as that they should be judged the most 
trusty guards of property ; and that, when the people in 
Flanders were allowed a protection for their goods, they should 
chuse to have some of this regiment, among others of the 
British soldiers, appointed to protect them. This may indeed 
seem hardly credible:* Yet my informer assures me, that he 
had it from an officer of their own, of unquestionable credit ; 

* A very worthy person, to whose inspection this appendix has been com- 
mitted since it was finished, observes here, that though the Highlanders are much 
addicted to depredations on their neighbours, yet the very actors even in them are 
generally as faithful to their trust, as any set of people whatever : And that, if his 
officer .shews but any degree of civility and kindness to one of these people, the fear 
of disobliging him has a greater influence, than that of stripes generally has on others 
of the common people. This remark I thought proper to insert here, that the repre- 
sentation of this afi'uir miglit be as impartial as possible. 


who added further, that it was but seldom he had observed a 
man among tliem drunk, and as seldom heard any of them 
swear. This is very agreeable to the high character, which I 
heard of this regiment, from an English gentleman then in 
Flanders, Avhose veracity is undoubted, and who cannot, I am 
sure, be suspected of any prejudice here. And among Sir 
Robert's papers, there is still existing a copy of a letter from 
the elector palatine to his envoy at London, desiring him to 
thank the King of Great Britain, in his name, for the excel- 
lent behaviour of the Highland regiment, while they were in 
Ills territories, '' which" as he says expressly, " was owing to 
the care of Sir Robert Munro, their Lieutenant-Colonel; for 
Avhose sake, he adds, he should always pay a regard to a Scotch- 
man for the future." 

I the rather mention these particulars, not only as they do 
an honour to Sir Robert, and his worthy brother, through 
whose interest, and that of the other officers, with the private 
men, this great reformation was effected; but likewise as 
they seem to shew in a very convincing manner, of how great 
importance it is, that some methods be seriously thought of, 
for breaking the other uncultivated inhabitants of these countries 
into useful men, by bringing them, at once, under the pro- 
tection and discipline of the laws, and inforcing their obedience 
to them, by teaching them the principles of religion, and the 
arts of peace and commerce. This is a happy effect, which 
methinks we may naturally hope for from the late rebellion, 
pernicious as it has in many respects been ; considering, how 
much it has reduced them to the power of the government, and 
how justly obnoxious it has made the chiefs of many fierce and 
barbarous clans. 

According to my best information, from persons v/ho are 
most thoroughly acquainted with affairs in the north, the two 
great springs of rebellion amongst the inhabitants of these 
Highland countries, are, their idleness, and their ignorance. — 
The former subjects them to a slavish dependance on their 
masters, and is also the cause of their being so addicted to 
stealing: And the latter makes them a prey to popish priests 
and missionaries from Rome, who are constantly and in great 
numbers trafficing among them. It has been very justly re- 
marked, that the success, they have in seducing these poor 
ignorant people, is occasioned, in a great measure, by the vast 
extent of parishes in those Highland countries ; some of them 
being betwixt 30 and 40 miles in length, and 20 and 30 in 



breadth, full of great mountains, rapid rivers, and arms of the 
sea ; and those parishes, which are more moderate in their ex- 
tent, are about 20 miles in length, and 10 or 12 in breadth: 
And it is every where to be observed through these parishes, 
that around the place of the minister's residence, the inhabitants 
are almost all protestants ; but in the corners, which are remote 
from his residence, they are generally all papists. 

Now it is evident, that these poor people can only be cured 
of idleness, by teaching them manufactures, to which they are 
wholly strangers : — And it is hard to imagine, how they can be res- 
cued from popish ignorance, until there are several new parishes 
erected in those extensive countries. It would ill become me 
to pretend to direct the government of Britain on such an oc- 
casion ; but I know it to be the opinion of many persons in those 
parts, of distinguished wisdom and experience, that if it should 
be thought fit to employ the produce of the estates confiscated 
by the late rebellion, for these valuable purposes, this, with the 
thousand pounds of his Majesty's royal bounty annually be- 
stowed, would go a good Avay towards remedying these 
two great evils, with their train of miserable consequences, 
which we have of late so deeply felt. And who would not 
rejoice, to see all these poor people sharing Avith us fully in all 
the privileges and advantages of Christians and of Britons ? I 
pray God to guide and prosper every scheme for this purpose ! 
And in this connection, I cannot but mention, and recommend 
the society for propagating the knowledge of religion, and, 
with it, the principles of loyalty, in these Highland countries ; 
a design, in which so many worthy persons, both in the 
northern and southern parts of our island, are incorporated : 
But their stock is by no means equal to the purposes here men- 
tioned ; and by their constitution, they are confined to the 
support of schools, which are indeed going on with great success, 
as far as the revenue will allow them. 

But to return from this natural, and therefore, I hope, 
very pardonable, digression: The behaviour of Sir Robert 
Munro, and this regiment, at the battle of Fontenoy, was heard 
through all Britain. He had obtained leave of his Roj'al High- 
ness the Duke of Cumberland, to allow them their own way of 
fighting. They were early in the field, and were ordered to 
attack the main battery of the French, at the village, from which 
the battle derives its name ; which they did, and drove the 
enemy froni it : But finding the body of the French forces 
deeply intrenched behind the battery, they did not give over 
the charge, but bravely drew up to attack them. Sir Robert, 


acrorcVing to tlie usage of his countrymen, ordered the whole 
regiment to clap to tiie ground on receiving the French fire ; 
and instantly, as soon as it was discharged, they sprung up, 
and coming close to the enemy, poured in their shot upon them, 
to the certain destruction of multitudes, and drove them preci- 
pitately through their own lines : Then retreating, they drew 
up again, and attacked them a second time after the same 
manner. These attacks they repeated several times that day, to 
the surprise of the whole army. 

Sir Robert was every where Avith his regiment, notwith- 
standing his great corpulency ; and when in the trenches, he 
was hauled out again by the legs and arms by his own men. 
And it is observable, that when he commanded the whole regi- 
ment to clap to the ground, he himself alone, with the colours 
behind him, stood upright, receiving the whole fire of the 
enemy; and this, because, as he said, though he could easily 
116 down, his great bulk would not suffer him to rise so quickly. 

His preservation that day was the surprise and astonish- 
ment, not only of the whole army, but of all that heard the 
particulars of the action: And my information relates, that a 
most eminent person in the army was heard to say upon 
the occasion, *' That it was enough to convince one of the 
truth of the doctrine of predestination, and to justify what 
King William of glorious memory had been used to say, that 
every bullet has its billet, or its particular direction and com- 
mission, where it should lodge." It is added, that on the 
retreat of our army, the Highland regiment was in the rear; 
and a great body of the French horse being ordered to pursue, 
Sir Robert made his regiment face about, and give them a 
general fire, so full and effectual, that a great number of them 
being brought to the ground, the rest wheeled about and rode 

But to close Avhat relates to Sir Robert Munro : As an 
acknowledgment for his brave services at Fontenoy, as well as 
on former occasions, his Majesty was pleased to appoint him to 
succeed General Ponsonby, who was slain there, in the com- 
mand of his regiment ; which was among the troops that ai'rived 
at Newcastle, during the rebellion, and made a part of General 
Wade's army. They were afterwards ordered to Scotland ; 
and being upon the left wing at the battle of Falkirk, on that 
fatal day, the nth of January 1745-6, they sliamefully left 
their brave Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel, with five or six 
more of their officers, to be cut in pie<:es. 



Bv the account Avhich the rebels tliemselves sive of Sir 
Robert, he defended himself against six of them with his half- 
pike, and killed two of their number : Upon which, a seventh 
came up, and, as they expressed it, poured a shot into his 
belly, which brought him immediately to the ground. In this 
dreadful moment, in the midst of all this extremity, his brother 
Doctor Munro, Avhom the warmest instances of his friends could 
not divert from exposing his person in the defence of iiis 
country, and who was near at hand, ran to him to support 
him, attended by his servant and the surgeon of the regiment : 
But they were all murdered on the spot, in the most barbarous 
manner, by those cruel men. 

Sir Robert's body was the next day sought out ; and his 
face was so cut and mangled by these savages, after he fell, 
that it could scarce be known. He was found, and buried 
honourably in the church-3-ard of Falkirk by the Macdonalds, 
■who, though engaged in rebellion against their lawful sovereign, 
could not but pay some public regard to the memory of so 
valiant a man ; the principal persons among the rebels, attend- 
ing him all the way to the grave. 

And thus fell those two brave brothers ; for the Doctor 
undoubtedly deserves that title with Sir Robert, who, though 
professing the peaceful art of medicine, adventured himself 
amidst the most visible dangrer, fired with love to his illustrious 
brother ; and attempting in vain to bring him some aid in his 
last extremities amidst armed enemies, expired with him, no 
less lamented than he, by all, that intimately knew him. How 
just that lamentation w^as, will appear from the accounts, -which 
I have had of the Doctor's character from his most intimate 
friends, which I here subjoin. 

He was a gentleman of an excellent understanding, and 
had a brightness and solidity in his genius, which are not often 
united * but which, when they concur, do greatly illustrate 
each other. He had been bred up in the study of medicine and 
surgery, which, in Scotland, are frequently joined, as they 
have so great an affinity. *' He had a large stock of knowledge, 
not only in his own profession, but in most parts of polite lite- 
rature. But these, adds my correspondent, I hold cheap, when 
compared to the goodness of his heart. His greatest study was 
to know himself ; and I verily believe, that, since the early 
ages of Christianity, there has not appeared a more upright 

He spent a great many years in the East-Indies, and had 
most accurately and diligently enquired into the manners, cus- 


toms, nrts and manufactures of the natives, and Into the produce 
and commodities of the country : So that he was much more 
capable of giving entertainment to persons of curiosity in such 
tilings, than travellers commonly are ; and his veracity was 
such, that all, who knew him, could entirely depend nporj 
"whatever he reported, as on his own knowledge. To all these 
advantages was added, a memory remarkably tenacious of every 
circumstance, with which he cliarged it : But perhaps, it was 
a loss to the world that it was so, as it hindered him from com- 
mitting many extraordinary things to writing, Avhich might have 
afforded improvement, as well as delight, to the public. 

The want of such memoirs from so able an hand is the 
more to be regretted, as his remarkable modesty did not permit 
him to talk much in company. One might spend a good deal 
of time with him, without perceiving, by any hints from him, 
tliat he had ever been out of Britain : But when his friends 
seemed desirous of information on any of those topics, as they 
fell in his way, he communicated his observations upon them 
with the utmost freedom, and gave them the greatest satisfac- 
tion imaginable ; of which, some remarkable instances happened 
at the houses of persons of very considerable rank, who paid 
him that respect, which he so well deserved. 

It was the more to be desired, that he should have left 
behind him some Avritten memoirs of his own remarks and 
adventures, as he was a most attentive observer of Divine 
Providence, and had experienced many singular instances of it. 
One is so remarkable, that it claims a place here, brief as these 
liints must necessarily be : — After he had continued eight or ten 
years in the East-Indies, he was shipwrecked on the Malabariaii 
coast, as he was on his passage home ; he saved his life on a 
plank, but lost all his effects, except a small parcel of diamonds. 
This ruinous calamity, as it seemed to be, obliged him to re- 
turn to Fort St. George, where he experienced, far beyond 
what he could have expected, the extraordinary friendship of 
several Knglish gentlemen of that settlement ; and felt the solid 
effects of it, as, by their assistance, he acquired much more in 
six or seven years following, for his whole stay in that countrv 
was about sixteen years, than he had lost by shipwreck , And 
when he left the settlement, he had all sort of encouragement 
offered him to induce him to stay ; but his health and other 
circumstances obliged him to return home. 

This return, which happened, if I mistake not, about tiie 
year 1726, was a happy IVovidence to many. For as he was 
remarkably successful in both the branches of his peculiar pro- 

)j8 api'£ndix To the 

fession, he took great pains in both : And as he did this without 
fee oi" reward, when he was satisfied, the circumstances of the 
afflicted needed such assistance, he was an instrument of saving 
many limbs, and many lives, Avhich must otherwise, in all pro- 
babilitv, have been lost. 

To this account, I must beg leave to add, what another of 
my correspondents writes to me concerning the Doctor in the 
following words : '' As we were often by ourselves, I still found 
him inclined to turn our discourse to spiritual subjects, con- 
cerning God and religion, the offices of the great Redeemer, 
and the power of God's Spirit in converting and sanctifying the 
souls of men, and the hope of eternal life through Christ." 
I transcribe the passage thus particularly concerning this pious 
physician, as I esteem it, in one view, a peculiar honour to 
him, and, permit me to say, in another, to the profession itself l 
Blessed be God, that though it is so rare a case, yet there are 
those of that learned body, who are not ashamed of the gospel 
of Christ ; but, who knowing it to be true on incontestible 
evidence, and having felt (what one would imagine every 
rational creature who believes it to be true, must immediately 
see), its infinite importance, have steadily determined to submit 
to its influence, and to maintain its honours in the midst of all 
the scorn and derision of their infidel brethren : A determina- 
tion, which, perhaps, requires no less courage, especially in 
some tempers, than that generous instance of fraternal love, 
which will entail lasting glory on the memory of Dr. Mnnro. 

There yet remained one valiant brother of this family, 
wliom Providence reserved for a few months, before he shared 
the fate of the other two. The person I mean, -was Captain 
George Munro, of Culcairn,esq. of whom I have conceived such 
an idea from the account of him, which has been put into my 
hands, that I cannot forbear wishing, the Avorld were blessed 
with a much larger narrative of his life and character, than my 
instructions will furnish out, or than I should have room to insert 
in such an appendix as this. Much do I regret, that Providence 
never favoured me with an opportunity of being personally ac- 
quainted v/ith him ; especiall}' as I have reason to believe, from 
what my friends in the north write, that he had the like disposi- 
tion towards forming a friendship with me, as produced so quick 
a growth of it in the breast of Colonel Gardiner; whom, on the 
whole, Capt. Munro seems to have resembled almost in every 
part of his cliaracter, taking it as it was, since that happv change, 
which I have so largely described in the foregoing memon-s: 
But what was Avanting in my personal knowledge, is supplied 


by a large and animated account from my correspondents, M-ho 
had the best opportunity of knowing him, and upon whose in« 
formation I can safely depend. 

Captain George Munro was the second brother of the 
family, the Doctor being the youngest son. He, like the other 
gentlemen, had the advantages of a very liberal education, and 
soon discovered marks of a good genius, which might have 
qualified him for making a figure under any character in the 
learned world. Besides the other branches of literature, com- 
mon to all the professions, he acquired a stock of theological 
knowledge ; and before he was seventeen 3'ears old, he was well 
acquainted with ecclesiastical historv, so as to be able to give a 
good account of the advance and decline of the Christian in- 
terest in various ages and countries ; and the degrees and man- 
ner, by which the corruption and reformation of the church had 
been introduced, established, or obstructed. I the rather men- 
tion this, as it seems to be an accomplishment of great im- 
portance; on which account, I much wonder, that the generality 
of young gentlemen should think it so little worth attending to : 
And I Avish I could say, that all, who are intended for the 
ministry, were so careful in pursuing it, as its usefulness and its 
absolute necessity to them might demand. 

But his taste and talents particularly lay for a military life ; 
and in the year 1715, he behaved himself Avith great courao-e 
and activity during the whole course of that rebellion ; and 
after the dispersion of the rebels, he was employed in reducing 
the inhabitants of those Highland countries, and the adjacent 
Isles, to a submission to the government. 

In the 3'ear 1719, when on occasion of the invasion from 
Spain, General Wightman with the troops under his command, 
had waited long at Inverness for a body of Highland men to 
conduct the troops through the mountains to Glenshiel, Avhere 
the Spaniards and rebels were encamped ; and when manv pro- 
mises of such assistance made to the General had failed, Sir 
Robert Munro being then out of the country, his brother the 
Captain, of whom we now speak, assembled, in a most expedi- 
tious manner, a bod}^ of the Munro clan, and marched Avith the 
regular troops to Glenshiel ; where they distinguished themselves 
by the gallantry of their behaviour, driving the enemy before 
them in a sharp action, in which many of them were killed, and 
more wounded; and among thcrest, the Captain himself in a 
very dangerous manner. He had, however, the satisfaction to 
see these foreign invaders, and their rebel abettors, totally rout- 
ed and dispersed on the Pretender's birth-day, June 10; And 


though his constitutioa suffered much by the loss of his blood 
on this occasion, yet it pleased God to recover him for further 
service to his country. 

As he still continued vigorous and active in the service of 
the government, he obtained the command of one of the inde- 
pendent companies then in the national pay: And when they 
were afterwards regimented and sent to Flanders, he attended 
them thither, and continued in the public service till the year 
1744; when he became so exceedingly asthmatic, that he could 
not breathe in the Blanders air. On which. General Wade, not 
only allowed him to sell his commission, but out of compassion 
to his distress, joined his brother Sir Robert in obliging him ta 
<lo it, and to return home: To which, at length, he submitted, 
though not without regret; and thereupon returned to his do- 
mestic seat at Newtown in Ross- shire, in the views of spending 
liis days with his family and friends in a peaceful retreat. But 
Providence determined otherwise, and had reserved for him some 
farther labours of a military life, in which it had appointed him 
gloriously to toil and fall, after services, which might have done 
an honour to his most vigorous and active days. 

The late Avicked and unnatural rebellion broke out soon 
after his arrival ; and the danger of bis country and its religious 
and civil constitution gave him at once a new stock of life and 

When General Cope came to Inverness, and had been 
assured of being joined by a number of Highlanders, to conduct 
him and his small army through the rebel countries, between 
that town and Aberdeen, Captain Mimro, with 200 of his 
brother's clan, were indeed the only persons, that were found 
Avilling to perform the promises, that were made by several 
others. He marched with the General directly to Aberdeen, 
from whence he was ordered to return home : In which return, 
he was imder a necessity of marching through a great number 
of the rebels under the command of Gordon of Glenbucket, 
who lay on the road to attack the Captain and his party ; but 
Glenbucket finding that the Captain was determined to dispute 
every inch of ground Avith him, retired, and allowed him to 
proceed without disturbance to Inverness. 

Not long after that, the Earl of Loudoun sent Captain 
Munro, in conjunction with the Laird of Macleod, with a body 
of men, to relieve the city of Aberdeen, and the neighbouring 
country, then greatly oppressed by the outrages committed 
upon them by Lord Lewis Gordon, and the rebels under his 
command. Accordingly the Captain and Macleod proceeded 


as far as Inverury, a small town, a few miles west of Aberdeen, 
where they halted to receive intelligence; and from the narrow- 
ness of the place, they were obliged to quarter a great number 
of their men in distant places through the adjacent country. In 
the mean time, a considerable reinforcement from the main body 
of the rebel army, Avhich then lay at Perth, Avas sent under the 
command of a French officer, supported by their picquets and 
Irish brigades : By the assistance of which. Lord Lewis attempt- 
ed to surprise, and cut off the Captain and his whole part}'. In 
this view they were moving towards Inverury in the dusk of the 
evening, after Captains Munro and Macleod had sent their men 
through the country to their quarters ; but though there was 
not such good intelligence provided, as might have been wish- 
ed, they were providentially discovered at such a distance, that 
Captain Munro and the Laird of Macleod had time to draw up 
the men, they had in the town of Inverury, in so regular a man- 
ner, that in consequence of it, they gave the enemy such a Avarm 
reception, attacking them at once in front and flank, that many 
of them were left dead in the field. The brave Captain and his 
associate continued very sedate, intrepid, and active, during the 
heat of the skirmish, till at last being overpowered by far 
superior numbers, they thought it advisable to retire ; and 
brought off their party safe and in good order, excepting some 
few who had been killed or taken prisoners. Among the latter 
was Mr. Adam Gordon of Ardoch, nephew to Captain Munro, 
who was seized by the rebels, and treated with a deal of rigour 
and severity for a considerable time, while detained in their 
power. But they did not presume to pursue the rest ; and the 
young gentleman at length made his escape, to the great joy of 
the family, being, I hope, reserved by Providence to tread in 
the steps of his heroic uncles, and to bless his countiy with some 
considerable future services. 

Upon the retreat of the rebels northward before his Royal 
Highness the Duke of Cumberland, the Earl of Loudon had not 
sufficient strength to maintain his possession of Inverness against 
them ; whereupon he, with the Lord President and Captain 
Munro, retreated to the shire of Sutlierland, proposing to defend 
themselves there, until the season allowed his Royal Highness to 
march the troops to Inverness. But in this interval, the rebels 
having spread themselves through the shires of Inverness, Murray, 
and Ross, they got ]iossession of a great many boats ; by the 
help of which, they transported a great part of their body to the 
Sutherland coast, under the covert of a very thick fog : Upon 



-which the Earl of Loudon, with the Lord President and the 
Captain, were obliged to retreat through the western parts of 
Ross into t!ie Isle of Sky, where they continued until the rebel 
army was broke and dispersed at the battle of Culloden. 

I have been the more particular in this narrative of the 
Captain's conduct during the rebellion, as it gives some light 
into the situation and transactions of the friends of our constitu- 
tion, in those parts at that time: And my information assures 
me, that the facts are taken from persons of undoubted veracity 
who were present with the Captain in his march to Aberdeen 
with General Cope, and in his return from it; and Avho were. 
with him in the skirmish at Inverury, and were afterwards wit- 
nesses of his death. 

Upon his return from the Isle of Sky, he was constantly 
employed in expeditions through the rebel countries of great 
extent, to reduce tliem to a submission to the government, 
Avhich he performed with diligence, and zeal, but still with the 
greatest humanity. Tins the rebels themselves must acknow- 
ledge, as he never did the least injury to any man ; and in all 
that vast circuit which he made through these distant countries, 
lie neither himself seized, nor allowed those under his command 
to seize an^ thing but arms ; and yet, notwithstanding all this 
humanity, his diligence and zeal had been such in the whole of 
this rebellion, as rendered him obnoxious to the rage and re- 
venge of the rebels, who had vowed his destruction upon the 
lirst opportunity ; and because they had not courage to face 
him, they had recourse to the base method of assassination, 
M-hich was effected on the Lord's-day, the 31st of August 1746. 
He was then on a long and necessary march at the head of 500 
men, on the side of Locharkey, amongst the wild rocks of 
Lochuber, where, as he was passing by the side of a wood, 
between the advanced guard and the main body of his men, he 
■was shot dead by a villain who concealed himself behind the 
trees and rocks in the wood, and who, by the advantages of 
tl^iat situation, got off without being discovered, and has never 
since been found out : An event to the Captain, no doubt, most 
happy, and a blessed kind of instantaneous translation to the 
regions of endless peace and triumphant joy ; but to all who 
Joyed the public, not to be mentioned without the tenderest 
sensibility and deepest regret. 

One of my correspondents on this occasion concludes his 
account of the deaths of Sir Robert, the Doctor, and the 
Captain, in these words : " Thus died those three worthy men, 
to the irreparable loss of the country in which they lived, all of 



them remarkable for a brave spirit, full of love to their native 
land, and of disinterested zeal for religion and liberty ; faithtui 
in their promises, stedfast in their friendship, abundant in their 
charity to the poor and distressed ; moderate in their resent- 
ments, and easy to be reconciled ; and especially, remarkable 
for their great and entire love to each other ; so that one soul 
seemed, as it were, to actuate all the three*." To which 
it might have been added, blessed with a sister, not unworthy 
to make a fourth person in such a friendship. 

My other correspondent, in his character of the Captain, 
speaks in this manner : " The great foundation of all his other 
virtues was laid ,in a most sincere and stedfast regard to the 
Supreme Being. He carefully studied the great doctrines of 
our holy religion, which he courageously professed, and, as it 
was requisite, defended, in whatever company he might be 
cast : He did this with the greatej; freedom, as his practice was 
always agreeable to it ; and in particular, his regard, both to 
the book and to the day of God. He had from his infancy beea 
trained up in an acquaintance with the scripture, and he daily 
perused it with pleasure, and doubtless, with advantage. And 
though the natural cheerfulness of his temper inclined him on 
other days to facetious turns in conversation, yet on the Sab- 
bath he was not only grave and devout, but carefully attentive 
that all his speech might tend to edification, and as far as pos- 
sible minister grace to the hearers. He was exemplary in the 
social virtues, temperate in the use of food and sleep, and rose 
early for devotion, wherein, as in many other respects, he 
remarkably resembled his beloved friend Colonel Gardiner. 
He was also thoroughly sensible how much a faithful discharge 
of relative duties is essential to the character of a Christian. He 
approved himself therefore as a brave and vigilant officer, a 
most active and faithful servant of the crown, and a true patriot 
to his country in the worst of times ; and in domestic life was 
exemplary as a husband, a father, and a master. He was a 
most affectionate brother, a faithful friend, a constant bene- 
factor, and a sure patron of the oppressed ; and, to crown all, 
was at last, in effect, a martyr in the cause of that rehgion he 

* The intimacy of their friendship, though chiefly founded on a similarity of 
character, might perhaps be further promoted, by their being So nearly of tlie same 
age; for Sir Robert was born August 24, 1684; the Captain, September 18, 1685 ; 
and the Doctor, September 19, 1637. Sir Robert tlierefore was slain in hi* 
sixty-second year ; the Captain in his sixty-first, and the Doctor in his fiftjr- 

S 2 


had so eminentl3' adorned, and of those hberties he had so long 
and so bravely defended." 

It must give a sensible pleasure to every reader, who enters 
into these things with a becoming spirit, to reflect, that not- 
withstanding these unparalleled and irreparable losses, this 
family, which has been long celebrated for so many worthy 
branches, is not yet extinct ; but that both Sir Robert Munro 
and the Captain have left those behind them, who may not only 
bear up the name, but if they answer the hopes, which in the 
opening of life the}^ give to their country, mav add new honours 
to it. 

I hope the reader will not lay down this narrative, which is 
now brought to a close, without deriving some useful lessons 
from the remarkable train of Providence, which this Appendix, 
as well as the preceding memoirs, offer to his observation. And 
the more he enters into these lessons, the more will he be dis- 
posed to lift up his wishes and prayers to God for those valuable 
remains, both of Sir Robert Munro's and of Colonel Gardiner's 
family, which may yet be within the reach of such addresses ; 
that God may graciously support them in their sorrows, and 
that all the virtues and graces of the illustrious dead may live in 
them, and in their remotest posterity. Amen ! 















GENTLEMEN, Jpril 16, 1747. 

HOPE you will excuse whatever freedom may attend this 
address, as it proceeds from sincere respect and affection. I 
look upon a brave soldier with great esteem. He is the guardian 
of his country ; and every one who is a friend to it, ought under 
that character to honour him, and love him: and they in parti- 
cular, who were, as you have been, the happy instruments in the 
hand of God, of delivering us from the worst of enemies, and of 
cutting off great numbers of those traitors and rebels who would 
have left us nothing worth fighting or living for, have a peculiar 
claim to our regard. 

You, Gentlemen, to whom I now write, had your part in 
the labours and dangers of that glorious day ; and blessed be 
God, you were preserved in it ; preserved, I hope, to be a fur- 
ther blessing to your country. Divine Providence has now, as 
the date reminds me, lengthened out your lives to another 
year : and I should be very ungrateful, if I did not Avish, that 
your years may be happily multiplied, and that God may re- 
ward and bless you with present prosperity and future happi- 
ness. But to pretend to wish this, and not to endeavour to pro- 
mote it, were unworthy the profession of a Christian. I cannot 
therefore, allow myself to be silent on an occasion, in which I am 
sure both are nearly concerned. 

Give me leave to speak plainly to you. It is the character 
of a brave man, to love to hear the truth without reserve or dis- 
guise: it is the character of an honest man and real friend, to 
speak it. I had ten times rather commend, than blame : but as 
circumstances at present stand, I will do so much violence to my 
own inclination, as plainly and boldly to tell you, I am extreme- 


ly grieved to see, that so many of you have so little sense of the 
goodness of the lilessed God your-protector, and that you take 
no greater care to secure his favour, upon which your safety 
and happiness both for time and eternity does so evidently 

You will however observe, that I charge nothing that is 
amiss upon the wholy body of you. 1 have the pleasure to be 
informed, that there are some among you of a very wortiiy 
character, who seem to have a sense, not only of decency and 
morality, but of true rehgion ; and 1 hope, that such will al\^ ays 
meet with the distinguished respect and encouragement whicli 
they deserve. No single man among you, therefore, would 
liave been charged, nor consequently injured, if I had mention- 
ed the name of your regiment, or the town in Avhich you are 
now quartered: Ijut out of tenderness to you, I forbear this ; 
and suppress my own name, as of no importance in the present 
address. And with this precaution, which, if you think at all, 
you must see, proceeds from great respect, I will now go on to 
tell you as plainly as possible, what it is that offends and grieves 
me; and what, if God may bless this weak attempt, I sincerely 
desire to be the instrument of reformhig. 

The evil, Avhich I have most immediately in view, is, that 
}-ou do in such an open, contemptuous, and indeed, outrageous 
manner, profane the great and glorious name of God, and mock 
at his most awful judgments. I write to you in the warmth and 
anguish of uiy heart, under a very late and lamentable instance 
of this; which is one, among many others. In walking out, not 
an hour ago, a few yards from my own house, I have heard one 
company of you swearing on the right hand, and another on the 
left. I have heard the same abominable language from the 
windows of the houses where you aro quartered: and it often 
reaches me, and wounds my ears, as I sit in my study. — You 
arc calHng upon God to damn you ; — to damn your soul ; — to 
damn your blood ; — and this is your language to each other ; 
the wish, you are forming for friends, as well as enemies. ^ly 
heart burns with indignation, and melts with compassion at the 
same time, while I hear this foolish, this detestable language. 1 
know, that to reprove you as I pass by you in the streets, would 
be more likely to provoke and exasperate, than to reform you : 
and, therefore, I do humbly and meekly, yet earnestly beseech 
you, to hear me a little, while I address j'ou in this manner, that 
I may deliver my own soul at least ; and that, if it be possible, 
J may contribute tou-ards delivering j'ours. 



Permit me therefore to ask you, Sirs, Do you believe there 
is a God ? and that there is sudi a thing as damnation ? — If you 
do not, how absurd is it to talk of it, and to wish it to yourselves 
and each other? — If you do, as I dare say you do. Jet me 
beseech you to consider, who this God is ; and what is damna- 

Do you not indeed know, that God is the greatest and best 
of all beings? That he made you ? That he preserves you every 
moment ? That he gives you breath, while you use it thus to his 
dishonour? And have you never been told, or have you foro-ot 
that he said once from the midst of the flames, while the moun- 
tain was trembling, and a Avhole mighty army were ready to die 
with fear ; Tlwushalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in 
>vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless, that taketh his 
name in vain? Have you not often heard this ? And have you 
not often said, on hearing it, " Lord have mercy upon us, and 
incline our hearts to keep this law !" How monstrous then is it, 
thus insolently to break it continually, almost with every breath ? 
Who are you, that dare thus boldly to provoke God Almio-htv 
to his face ? Can you possibly imagine, that you are able to 
resist him ? If you were ten thousand times as many as you are, 
could he not bring you in a moment all down together to the 
dust of death, and to the flames of hell ? 

Let me ask you again. Do you know, what damnation is ? 
Did you ever consider, what it signifies ? Why, to be damned, 
is to be pronounced accursed by God, in the great day of judo-- 
ment. It is, for God to say to a poor creature. Depart from 
me accursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and 
his angels. It is, to be plunged into that lake, which burns 
with fire and brimstone, and burns for ever, which is the 
second death. It is, to go to that place, where Christ tells us, 
the worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched. — And do 
you indeed wish this to yourselves ? Do you think, you could 
bear it? Poor creatures! How have I seen some of the strongest 
and boldest men in our army ready to faint, when they have 
been hung up, perhaps not for an hour, by one hand, while 
their foot has stood upon a picquet ? Can you not then bear 
that trifling punishment ? And can you bear damnation ? If you 
cannot, why do you call for it ? — Could you wish it to the 
worst enemy you had in the world ? Surely you could not do it 
deliberately. And yet, you wish it to your friends; you wii;h 
it to yourselves. 



Take heed, Sirs, take heed ; you wish it in the presence 
and hearing of God ; of that God, Avho can send it upon you. 
And let me tell you, your oaths and curses are all set down in 
the book of his remembrance : he cannot possibly forget one of 
them ; and he will bring you into judgment for them. And 
what will you do in the day of that judgment ? The laws of man 
you despise ? the laws of your king and country ; though you 
pretend a great deal of regard for your king, and for the nation. 
You trample upon their authority every day ? and your fellow- 
subjects have not courage and virtue, to attempt to bring you to 
justice for it. But do you think, that therefore you shall trample 
on the law of God, and go unpunished ? Take heed. Sirs, as you 
value your souls, take heed. He may execute his justice upon 
you, much sooner than you think of it. 

You drown your senses in liquor. Often I see that likewise, 
with the greatest concern ; though to be sure, this and your 
swearing escape the view of 3'our officers, or they w^ould not 
bear it. But reflect again, can it escape the observation of the 
great and blessed God ? And will it be any excuse before God, 
that you added sin to sin ? That when you dishonoured him, 
and profaned his great and terrible name, you also dishonoured 
3'our own nature, and made brutes of yourselves ? Will it not 
rather provoke God so much the more ? 

Oh Sirs, by the grace of God set yourselves immediately 
to repent and reform. — Do it, while there is room to do it. You 
may perhaps be called abroad in a few months, and whole ranks 
of you may be mowed down at once by the artillery of the ene- 
my ; or distempers at home may be as fatal. And what Avill 
you do, Avhen your separate spirits come to stand before God, 
and you must answer to him for all this wickedness ? For all 
this unprofitable Avickedness, which you have committed upon 
no temptation ? Which with respect to swearing is so evi- 
dently the case. 

Sirs, the hour is certainly coming, Avhen it will be too late 
to think of repentance and asking pardon. But I hope, it is 
not too late now : God is gracious and merciful ; that God, 
whom you have so often affronted, and challenged to damn 
you. He is a God, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin. 
If you now humble yourselves before him, if you seek his par- 
don through Christ, and seek his spirit and grace to teach you 
to forsake sin, and to love and practice your duty, there is still 
hope concerning you. 

It is the business of this letter, seriously to exhort you to 



do it. I know, your hearts are hardened by the practice of 
sin : but if you are a httle alarmed, by what I have now been 
setting before you, perhaps God may soften them. Yea, he 
will surely do it, if you earnestly, and seriously, and resolutely 
ask it. 

I have no interest at all, in representing these things to 
you. I am at some expence to do it. It proceeds entirely 
from a real regard to the honour of God, and the salvation of 
your own souls ; and indeed I may say, from a regard to your 
own reputation too. For this is a most mean and infamous 
practice ; quite below your character, as gentlemen. And 
accordingly I must here remind you, that I have never heard 
your officers fall into such language ; nor heard it commonly 
reported of them, that they use it. No, they are sensible, that 
it belongs, not to gentlemen, but to the lowest and vilest of the 
people, to the very dregs and refuse of mankind. The wretches 
who die by the hand of the hang-man, have generally been 
accustomed to such language, as that of which I now desire to 
cure you ; and perhaps, it is by the judgment of God upon them 
for swearing and cursing, that they have been left to commit 
other crimes, for which they die, and are made a curse. This 
consideration might, methinks, teach you to scorn it : but the 
others, that I have urged, are of infinitely greater importance. 
Your souls, your immortal souls, are, as it were, murdered by 
these hellish weapons, with which you pierce yourselves through 
every hour, or almost every minute. Adore the divine good- 
ness, that you have not been taken at your word ; and that ex- 
perience, dreadful experience, has not taught you, to know 
what damnation is. I pray God, that it never may. I pray 
God, to bless this plain, affectionate, and well-intended letter, 
as the means of doing some good on some of you. And if this 
evil can be cured, there will be more room to hope, other happy 
consequences ma}' follow reformation in this respect. 

But while I am thus speaking to you, let me add a few 
words more, to intreat you to a reUgious observation of the 
T.ord's-day, to a careful attendance upon the public ordinances 
of God, and to a readiness to receive good instructions from any 
one, who will be charitable enough to give them you. But 
above all, let me urge you, to pray to God, that he would par- 
don you, and teach you better things. Yes, Sirs, having called 
upon him so often to damn your souls, now begin to cry to 
lum to save them : and rest not, till that cry be answered ; as, 

T 2 


if you persevere in the request, you will find, it most cer- 
tainly will. God grant, that it may be so ! And that as you 
have been in one respect, you may each of you be in another, 
like a brand pluckt out of the burning ! It i^, I am sure, the 
earnest desire, and by the grace of God it shall be the frequent 
prayer, of, 


Your affectionate Friend, 
and faithful Servant, &(c. 


No. I. 





A HE name of Sir Isaac Newton is so justly celebrated through 
the learned world, that they who know he has endeavoured to 
establish a method of settling a chronology of our Lord's life, 
(for I think one can hardly call it, an harmony of the evangelists,) 
quite different from what has hitherto been advanced, may be 
curious to know what it is, and why we presume to depart from 
it ; since it is so natural to imagine, that such a genius must de- 
monstrate whatever it attempts to prove. I therefore, think it 
incumbent upon me to lay the scheme before my reader, as I 
promised long since to do: (Note (m) on Mat. iv. 25.) After 
■which I shall briefly present, in one view, those reasons (many 
of which have been already hinted,) which compelled me to 
tread a different road, after having most attentively considered 
all that this illustrious writer has urged for the support of his 

I cannot set myself to this task, without feeling the fatigue 
of it sensibly allayed, by the pleasure with which I reflect on 
the firm persuasion which a person of his unequalled sao-acity 
must have entertained of the truth of Christianity, in order to 
his being engaged to take such pains in illustrating the Sacred 
Oracles. A pleasure, which I doubt not every good reader 
will share with me ; especially as (according to the best infor- 
mation, Avhether public or private, I could ever get,) his firm 
faith in the divine revelation discovered itself in the most o-enuine 
fruits of substantial virtue and piety ; and consequently o-ives us 
the justest reason to conclude, that he is now rejoicing in the 
happy effects of it, infinitely more than in all the applause which 
his philosophical works have procured him ; though they have 


commanded a fame lasting as the world, the true theory of which 
he had discovered, and (in spite of all the vain efforts of ignorance, 
pride, and their offspring bigotry,) have arrayed him as it were 
in the beams of the sun, and inscribed his name among the con- 
stellations of heaven. 

Sir Isaac Newton has given Us his sentiments on the chro- 
nology of our Lord's history, in his Observations on Prophecy, 

book I. chap. XI. page 144 168. and, according to his usual 

method, he has done it concisely, only marking out some of the 
outlines ; and after having endeavoured to establish some of the 
chief principles, by arguments which he judged to be conclu- 
sive, he leaves it to his readers to apply those principles to 
several other particulars; which being deduciblefrom them, he 
did not think it necessary to enter into. Such is the method he 
has also taken in his chronology of ancient kingdoms ; and it was 
most suitable to that great genius, which bore him with such 
amazing velocity through so vast a circle of various literature. 
Yet it must render him less sensible of the difficulty attending 
some of his schemes, than he would otherwise have been; and 
may leave room to those, who are justly sensible how much they 
are his inferiors, to shew by their remarks upon him, how possi- 
ble it is for the greatest of mankind to be misled by some plau- 
sible appearances of things in a general view of them, against 
which invincible objections may arise, when they come to be 
applied to unthought of particulars. 

There are many facts recorded in the evangelists, the order 
of which is so plain, that all harmonies agree in them: And 
such especially are most of those with which the history begins, 
and most of those with which it ends, though there be some 
disputes about a few circumstances relating to the resurrection. 
But Sir Isaac enters not at all into that part of the history, nor 
into any thing that precedes the appearance of John the 

He lays it down as the foundation of all his other reasonings 
and calculations here, (on the authority of Luke iii. 1.) that 
John began to baptize in the fifteenth year of Tiberius, reckon- 
ing his reign to have commenced from the death of Augustus, 
which happened, he says, Aug. 28*. in the year of our Lord 
(according to the common reckoning) 29. This is said (Newt. 
page 147.) to have been in the year of the Julian period 4727, 
which must surely be an error of the press for 4742, the year of 

* This is a small mistake j for Suetonius (Aug. 100.) fixes it to xiv. Kal. 
Septemb. that is, Aug. 19. 


that period which is nnivp.rsally known to have answered to the 
L'l^th of the received Christian asra. He supposes, the Baptist's 
ministry o])ened in the spring, wben the weather was warm; 
and allowing the remainder of" the year to the spreading of his 
reputation, he concludes, that our Lord was baptized before the 
end of it, when Tiberius's 1 6th year was begun. (Mat. iii. 1 — 17. 
Mark i. 1 — U. Luke iii. 1 — 18,21 — 23. John i. 6 — 18, sect. 
15 — 18.) After this the temptation ensued, (Mat. iv. 1 — 11. 
Mark i. 12, I'i. Luke iv. 1 — 13, sect. 19.) and all those testi- 
monies of John to Jesus, and the interviews between Jesus and 
his first disciples, (which are mentioned John i. 19, to the end, 
sect. 20 — 22.) as likewise our Lord's journey to Galilee, and his 
first miracle there. (Joim ii. 1 — 1 1 , sect. 23.) Then followed 
our Lord's FIRST PASSOVER, which, according to Sir Isaac, 
(and I would be understood through all this part of the disserta- 
tion to be only reporting his opinion,) happened A. D. 30. at 
which he drove the traders out of the temple, (John ii. 12, to 
the end, sect. 24.) had that celebrated conference with Nicode- 
mus, (John iii. 1 — 21. sect. 25, 26.) and continued for some timq 
to abide in Judea, baptizing by his disciples, while John bap- 
tized in Enon,and bore his last recorded testimony to him. (John 
iii. 22, to the end, sect. 27.) 

Thus the summer was spent, till Jolin was thrown into pri- 
son about November; (Mat. xiv. 3 — 5. Luke iii. 19,20. Mark 
vi. 17 — 20, sect. 28.) and our Lord passed through Samaria, 
in his way to Galilee, about the winter solstice, that is, four 
months before harvest: (John iv. 1 — 42, sect. 29, 30. See 
note (c) on John iv. 35. After which he went, first to Cana in 
Galilee; (John iv. 43 — 54. sect. 31.—) and then, after a cir- 
cuit, or rather journe}^, in Galilee, (Mat. iv. 12. Mark i. 14, 15. 
Luke iv. 14, 15. sect. — 31, 32. — ) he came and preached at 
Nazareth, (Luke iv. 16 — 30. sect. — 32.) and being rejected 
there, went and settled for awhile at Capernaum, where he call- 
ed Peter, Andrew, James, and John. (Mat. iv. 13 — 22. Mark i. 
16—20. Luke iv. 31, 32. v. 1 — 11. sect. 33, 34.) This our 
author thinks must have taken up all the spring, and bring 
us to our Lord's SECOND PASSOVER, A. D. 31. 

It is after this passover, that Sir Isaac places another circuit 
through Galilee; which also carried his fame throughout all 
Syria, and added multitudes from thence, and from Dccapolis, 
to those that followed him from Judea and Jerusalem. (Mat. 
iv. 23, to the end. Mark i. 28. Luke iv. 44. sect. — 36. To these he 
preached the celebrated sermon on the mount : (Mat. v, vi, \\i'. 

VOL. iv. U 


sect. 37—43.) tmmediately after vhich, he cured tlie leper, 
(Mat. viii. 1 — 4. Mark i. 40, to the end. Luke v. 12 — 16. sect. 
44). the centurion's servant, (Mat. viii. 5 — 13. Luke vii. 1 — 10. 
sect. 55.) and Peter's mother in law, with many others. (Mat. 
viii. 14 — 17. Mark i. 29—38. Luke iv. 38 — 44. sect. 35, 36. — ) 

By this time Sir Isaac supposes, the feast of tabernacles ap- 
proached, when our Lord passing through Samaria was refused 
a lodging ; (Lukeix. 51^ — 56. sect. 127.—) to which he strange- 
ly supposes a reference, Mat. viii. 19, 20. (Sect. 69. — ) After 
whichj when the feast was over and Ciirist returned from Jeru* 
salem toward winter, he stilled a tempest as he crossed the sea, 
(I\Tat. viii. 23—27. Mark iv. 35, to the end. Luke viii. 22 — 25. 
sect. — 69.) and when he had landed, dispossessed the legion: 
(Mat. viii. 28, to the end. Mark v. 1 — 21. Luke viii. 26—40. 
sect. 70.) And then returning again to the western side of the 
sea, cured the paralytic, (Mat. ix. 1 — 8. Mark ii. 1 — 12. Luke 
v. 18—26. sect. 45.—) called Matthew, (Mat. ix. 9. Mark ii. 14. 
Luke V. 27, 28. sect. — 45.) and having been entertained at his 
house, (Mat. ix. 10 — 17. Mark ii. 15 — 22. Luke v. 29, to the 
end, sect. 71.) went out to raise Jairus's daughter, curing the 
Moman, who had a bloody flux, by the way : (Mat. ix. 18 — 26. 
Mark v. 22, to the end. Luke viii. 41, to the end, sect. 72. — ) 
And after performing other cures, (Mat. ix. 27 — 34. sect. — 72.) 
he took another circuit in Galilee, (Mat. ix. 35, to the end, sect. 
— 73.) gave a charge to his apostles, and sent them out : (Mat, 
X. 1, to the end. xi. 1. Mark vi. 7 — 13. Lukeix. 1 — 6. sect, 
74 — 76.) After which, having answered the messengers which 
John had sent, he discourses with the people concerning him, 
(Mat. xi, 2 — 19. Luke vii. IS — 35. sect. 57, 58.) and upbraids 
the impenitent cities of Galilee. (Mat. xi. 20, to the end, sect. 
59.) •And as these events would employ the winter and the 
spring, Qur author places the THIRD PASSOVER here, 
A. D. 32. 

He does not indeed expressly assert, that this was the feast, 
at which our Lord cured the lame man at the pool of Bethesda 
in Jerusalem, and made that defence before the Sanhedrim, re- 
lated in the vth chapter of John: (Sect. 46 — 48.) But according 
to this general plan, this must be its proper place. And that 
there was a passover about this time, he argues from the story of 
the disciples rubbing out the ears of corn, which is related as in 
tliis place: (Mat. xii. i — 8. Mark ii. 23, to the end. Luke vi. 
1 — 5. sect. 49.) Soon after which, happened the cure of the 
withered hand, (Mat. xii. 9 — 15. Mark iii. 1 — 7. Luke vi. 6 — II. 
sect. 50.) and a variety of other miracles, (Mat. xii. 15 — 2K 


Markiii. 7 — 12, sect 51.) Avith that of the dispossession imputed 
to a confederacy with Beelzebub. (Mat, xii. 22, to the end. 
Mark iii. 22, to the end. Luke xi, 14 — 36. sect 61—64.) Here 
Sir Isaac places the parables delivered at the sea side, as ha 
supposes about seed-time, or the feast of tabernacles, (Mat. 
xiii. 1—52. Mark iv. 1—34. Luke viii. 4—18. sect. 65 — 68.) 
his renewed visit to Nazareth, (Mat. xiii. 53, to the end. Mark 
vi. J — 6. sect. 73. — ) and the return of the twelve, after having 
spent, as he supposes, a year in their embassy. (Markvi. 30, 
31. Luke ix. 10. sect. 78. — ) 

About this time our author places the beheading of John 
the Baptist, after he had been in prison two years and a quar-» 
ter: (Mat, xiv. 1-^12. Markvi. 14 — 29, Luke ix. 7 — 9. sect. 
77.) After which those multitudes resorted to Christ, whom he 
fed with the five loaves, (Mat. xiv. 13 — 23, Mark vi. 30 — 46. 
Luke ix. 10 — 17. John vi. 1 — 15. sect. 78.) and to whom, aftei? 
having crossed the Lake, (Mat. xiv. 24, to the end, Mark vi. 
47, to the end. John vi. 16 — 21. sect. 79,) he discourses con-" 
cerning the bread of Ufe, (John vi. 21, to the end, sect, 80 — 
82.) As we are expressly told, John vi. 4. that when this miracle 
was wrought the passover was near. Sir Isaac concludes this to 
be the FOURTH PASSOVER after our Lord's baptism, 
A. D, 33. and argues from John vii. 1. that Christ did not cele, 
brate it at Jerusalem. 

Quickly after this, followed the dispute with the scribes who 
came from Jerusalem : (Mat. xv. 1 — 20. Mark vii. 1 — 23. sect. 
83, 84.) After which our Lord departed into the coasts of 
Tyre and Sidon ; and after having dispossessed the daughter of 
a SyrophoBnician woman, (Mat. xv. 21 — 28. Mark vii. 24, to 
the end, sect. 85.) he returned to the sea of Galilee, where he 
fed the four thousand ; (Mat. xv. 29, to the end. Mark viii. 1 — ^ 
10. sect. 86 ) and after having replied to the unreasonable de- 
mand the pharisees made of a sign from heaven, and cautioned 
his disciples against the leaven of their false doctrine, (Mat, 
xvi. 1 — 12. Mark viii. U — 26, sect, 87.) he came to Csesarea 
Philippi ; and having by the way acknowledged himself to be 
the Messiah, he was afterwards transfigured, and ejected an 
obstinate daemon. (Mat. xvi. 13, to the end, xvii. J — 21. Mark 
viii. 27, to the end, ix. 1—29. Luke ix, 18 — 43. sect. 88 — 91.) 
He then came to Capernaum, and made provision by a miracle 
to pay the tribute ; (Mat. xvii. 24, to the end, sect. 92.) and 
there, or in the neighbourhood of it, discoursed of humility, 
forgiveness, &c. (Mat xviii. 1, to the end. Mark ix, 33, ^o the 
end. (Luke ix. 46 — 48, sect. 93 — 95.) 


Our author takes no notice of the mission of the seventy, 
and their return ; (Luke x. 1 — 24, sect. 97, 106.) but he would 
probably have placed it here, previous to that which he sup- 
poses to be Christ's last departure from Galilee, (Mat. xix. 1, 2. 
Mark X. I. sect. 135. — ) when he went up to the feast of 
tabernacles. (John vii, viii. sect. 98 — 105.) Neither does he 
take notice of the visit to Bethany ; (Luke x. 38, to the end, 
sect. 108.) nor of the date of any of those discourses which are 
recorded by Luke, (from chap. xi. i. to chap, xviii. 14. sect. 
109 — 129. except where any passages happen to be parallel 
to those in Matthew, to which he hints they are to be reduced. 

He then introduces our Lord's visit to Jerusalem, and the 
cure of the blind man at the feast of dedication ; (John ix, x. 
sect. 1 30 — 1 34. ) after which Christ retired beyond Jordan, (John 
X. 40.) where he treats of divorce, (Mat. xix. 3 — 12. Mark x. 
2 — 1 2. sect. — 1 35. ) blesses the little children, (Mat. xix. 1 3 — 1 5. 
Mark X. 13 — 16. Luke xviii, 15 — 17. sect. 136.) answers, and re- 
marks upon the young ruler. (Mat. xix. 16, to theend. XX. 1 — 16. 
Mark x. 17 — 31. Luke xviii. 18 — 30. sect. 1.37, 138.^ After 
which, on the death of Lazarus, he returns to Bethany, and raises 
him from the dead ; (John xi. 1 — -46. sect. 139, 140.) and then 
Avithdraws to Ephraini, till the approach of the FIFTH PASS- 
OVER after his baptism, which was the last of his life : The 
particulars of which are related at large by the evangelists, and 
%vith the subsequent circumstances of his death, resurrection, 
appearances, and ascension, make up the rest of this important 
history : But the contents need«ot be inserted here, as, for any 
thing that appears, there is no material difference between a 
harmony formed on Sir Isaac's principles, or on ours. 

I have taken the trouble of quoting the particular passages 
in each evangelist, as well as of every correspondent section in 
the Family Expositor, that it may be easy for any who desires 
it, to read over the whole Paraphrase according to this new 
scheme ; and also to see, how it transposes the passages in ques- 
tion, and how it differs from what I judge to be the most exact 
method of disposition. And the attentive reader will easily see, 
that there is a difference in the order of several of the stories, 
and a much greater in the dates we have respectively assigned 
to several which are placed in the same order by both. 

A repetition of all the particulars would perhaps be disa- 
greeable. I shall therefore content myself here with observing 
in general, that Sir Isaac constantly follows the order of Mat- 
thew, whatever transpositions of Mark and Luke it may require ; 
winch we do not : And he also concludes, there were FIVE 


PASSOVERS from the baptism to the death of Christ, whereas 
xve, with the generaUty of harmonizers, suppose there were but 
FOUR. I have in my notes hinted at some considerations 
which determined me to the method I have taken : But it will 
be expected, I should here at least touch upon them again, and 
give a view of them together ; which I the rather do, as they 
Strongly illustrate each other. 

The grand reason, why I do not every where follow the or- 
der of Matthew, is in one word this : That both Mark and Luke 
do not only in several instances agree to place the stories 
otherwise, though we have not the least reason to think, that 
one wrote from the other ; but also, that they do, one or another 
of them, expressly assert, '' that the events in question actually 
liappened in a different order from that in which Matthew re- 
lates them :" Whereas it is observable, that in all such cases 
Matthew does not so expressly assert his order, as to contradict 
theirs. A few instances of this may be expedient ; and a few 
shall sufSce. 

Thus, though Matthew relates the cure of Peter's mother- 
in-law, (sect. 35.) in his viiith chap. ver. 14, 15, after the ser- 
mon on the mount, and according to Sir Isaac some months 
after the call of Peter, Andrew, James, and John, which he had 
related, chap. iv. 18 — 22. Mark says, this cure was immediate- 
ly after they came out of the synagogue, into which they en- 
tered straightway after the call of those disciples. Mark i. 20, 
21, 29. 

Again, though Matthew gives us the story of Christ's calm- 
ing the sea, dispossessing legion, and curing the paralytic, in 
the latter part of his viiith and beginning of his ixth chap, 
and does not relate the parables of the sower, tares, &c. deli- 
vered from the ship, till the xiiith ; and places so many facts 
between, that Sir Isaac concludes the miracles to have been 
wrought in winter, some time before the passover A. D. 32. and 
the parables not to have been delivered till about the feast of 
tabernacles, almost a year after ; Mark is very punctual in as- 
suring us, (chap. iv. 35, and seq.) that, in the evening of the 
sajne day in which the parables were delivered from the ship, 
Jesus calmed the sea, and dispossessed legion : For which rea- 
son I have followed him, and placed these miracles immediately 
after the parables : (sect. G9, 70.) But have set that of the pa- 
ralytic much higher, .(sect. 45.) as^both Luke and Mark connect 
it strongly Avith the cure of the leper, which Sir Isaac allows to 
have happened immediately after the sermon on the mount. 

Matthew relates the message of Jolin, and those subsequent 


discourses of our Lord, wliich are contained in his xlth chap, 
after having given us an account of the mission of the apostles 
in his xth. But Luke (who more accurately distinguishes be- 
tween their call, Luke vi. 13 — 16. and mission, Luke ix. 2—6. 
as Mark also does, Mark iii. 13 — 1?. and vi. 7—13.) places 
this message, together with the account of several miracles on 
which it is founded, as avcU as the circuit which our Lord made 
with the twelve before he sent them out, and the fore-mentioned 
miracles of calming the sea, dispossessing legion, &c. between 
those two events, tliat is, the call, and actual juission of the 
twelve, the one of which must in all reason be supposed consi-, 
derably to precede the other: In which he also agrees with 
Mark, as w^as observed above. 

Matthew^ also relates the story of the disciples rubbing out 
the ears of corn, and the cure of the withered hand, (chap. xii. 
1 — 13.) after the mission of the twelve: Whereas both Luke 
and Mark place which ever of those events they mention, before 
the choice of them : (See Mark iii. I — 6. Luke vi. 1 — 1 1. And 
Luke expressly says, that choice was in those da3^s, (Luke vi. 
12, 13 ) that is, at the time which followed the fore-mentioned 

These, and the discourse on the unpardonable sin, (sect, 
61.) which we readily allow might have happened twice, are 
all the most material transpositions w^e have made : And I must 
submit it to the judgment of the reader, w^hether it be not more 
for the honour of the New Testament in general, to suppose 
that Matthew might not intend exactly to preserve the order 
of the history, Avhere he asserts nothing directly concerning it, 
than to suppose both Mark and Luke to have mistaken it, whea 
they so expressly declare their regard to it j as in some of these 
instances they do. 

Sir Isaac indeed urges, that Matthew (as well as John, in 
whom I have made scarce any transposition,) was an eye-witness : 
But this can have no weight ; unless it be certain, that he every 
where intended to observe an exact order, which for variety of 
reasons or causes, many of which may be to us unknown, he 
might not be solicitous about *. 

And I cannot forbear observing, that on this great man's 
own principles there cannot be a great deal in the argument ; 
For as Matthew was not called till chap, ix, 9. he could not, ac». 
cording to his hypothesis, have been an eye and ear- witness to 

* Mr. Jere. Jones has hinted at some conjectured reason ^, in his vindication 
of the fonncr ^/ai t of St, Matthew's gospel ; see chap, iii. page ^9 — 34= 


all the events from chap. iv. to that place : And if, as Sir Isaac 
also urges, he was sent out as one of the twelve, chap. x. init, 
and coQtinued a year on his embassy, he could iiot be such a 
%vitness to what passed from the beginning of chap. xi. to the 
end of chap. xiii. where he places their return after a year's, 
absence. And these are the chapters, where we have made the 
greatest, and most material transpositions, the others hardly de- 
serving a mention. 

If this l)ranch of Sir Isaac's argument falls to the ground, 
and it be not allowed that Matthew observed a strict chronolo- 
gical order ; that part of his reasoning, by which he would fix 
the date of each event, must fall with it. For if it were to be 
granted, that Matthew hinted at the different seasons of the year 
■when they passed, Ave could not fix the chronology by that, un- 
less we were sure, that each was such a season of a diflPerent 
year, and not of the same ; which on this supposition we cannot 
assert. But I think it very easy {ex abundanti) to shew, that 
passages which Sir Isaac produces as indications of the seasons, 
are not so ; or at least do not point them out so punctually, as 
they ought to do, in order to justify tl^e uses he would make 
of them. 

One cannot but wonder, that some of the arguments which 
I have now in my eye, should ever have been urged by a writer 
of such extraordinary discernment. As for instance, That he 
should conclude the sermon on the mount must be preached 
later than the passover, because multitudes followed Christ in 
the open fields, which he says, (page 151.) was an argument of 
the summer season ; though it is so apparent, that when there 
were those five thousand men besides Avomen and children as- 
sembled around him, whom he fed with the five loaves, the 

passover was only at hand : (John vi. 4.) Or that he should 

say, (page 153) the storm mentioned Mat. viii. 2 J. *' shews the 
winter Avas *' now come on," as if there Avere no storms in the 

summer : Or, once more, that it must be seed-time, Avhen 

the parables in Mat. xiii. were delivered, " because soAving 
seed is mentioned in them ;" (page 154.) Avhen it is so evident, 
(as I have observed elsewhere, note (d) on Mark iv. 3.) the 
very same principle Avould proA'e it to be harvest, as another 
parable delivered the same day i-efers to that season. 

I am not Avilling to swell this dissertation, and therefore 
omitting many remarks Avhich might easily be made on other 
passages, I Avill conclude Avith the mention of tAvo or three par- 
ticulars, Avhich might contribute to lead this illustrious Avriter 
into some error. 



One thing that has occasioned this, was, his taking it for 
granted, as I observed before, that the fifteenth year of Tibe- 
rius, in which John the Baptist opened his ministry, must needs 
be reckoned from the death of Augustus ; whereas it ought to 
be computed from the time, when Augustus made him his col- 
league in the empire. (See note (b) on Luke iii. 1.) 

Another is, his admitting the rabinnical rules for the 
translation of the Jewish feasts, of which we have not one word, 
either in the scriptures, or in Josephus, or Philo. Yet it is on 
this principle, that he rejects some years from the possibility of 
being the year of Christ's suffering, because, as he imagines, the 
passover, two years before each, would not fail late enough to 
have the corn ripe on the sabbath that succeeded the paschal *, 
(See notes (b) and (c), on Luke vi. 1. 

And to mention no more, a third principle (which is also 
very precarious, and yet has much stress laid upon it in Sir Isaac*s 
scheme,) is, his taking it for granted, that whenever Matthew 
speaks of Christ's going about Galilee and preaching in the 
synagogues there, he intended to tell us, that our Lord made a 
circuit over all the country : Which, if it were admitted, might 
indeed make it necessary (if Matthew's order were to be the 
standard,) to suppose a longer space of time, than we or most 
others allow, to have passed between his entrance on his public 
work, and the passover just preceding the rubbing out the ears of 
corn ; which we own on both sides to have been two years be- 
fore his death. For four circuits of this kind are mentioned, 
before we come to the xiith chapter of Matthew, where the 
story last referred to is recorded : The first, John iv. 43. and 
Luke iv. 14, 15. the second, Mat. iv. 23. the third. Mat. ix. 35. 
and the fourth. Mat. xi. 1. But if we should grant, that his 
going about all Galilee in the second of these instances, and his 
going about all the cities and villages in the third, (though that 
might only be those on the shore of the sea of Tiberias, were to 
be taken ever so literally ; yet his passmg through Galilee in his 
way from Sichar to Nazareth in the first instance, and his de- 
parting, that is, setting out to teach and to preach in their ci- 
ties in the fourth, can infer no such conclusion. 

This might be suggested, even if Matthew's order were to 
be admitted, and would invalidate the argument for protracting 
the years of our Lord's ministry on that supposition : But it is 

^ I shall content myself with observing here, that on these principle's Sir 
Isaac places the passover, A. D. 31. on Wednesday, March 28.— — A. D. 32, on 

Monday, April U A. D. 33. on Friday, April 3. and A. D. 3-i. on Friday, 

April 23. 


to be remembered, Ave have produced arguments to prove, that 
order must sometimes be inverted ; and particularly, that Christ 
going about all the cities and villages, (Mat. ix. 35. sect. 73.) 
and his departing to teach and to preach in their cities, (Mat. 
xi. 1. sect. 76.) was some considerable time after the passover, 
after which the ears of corn were rubbed out. (Mat. xii. 1. 
sect. 49.) 

On the whole, I think, that if our order be admitted, there 
is no part of Christ's ministr}' which seems so crouded with bu- 
siness, as that between his last passover but one, and the follow- 
ing feast of dedication. But here, our harmony allows more 
time for the work in Galilee, than Sir Isaac, who supposes 
*' Christ never returned thither after the feast of taberna- 
cles :" (page 157.) And I leave the reader to judge, whether 
if such a variety of journies and events must be allowed to have 
happened in these nine months, or according to him in six, we 
may not, by a parity of reason, or rather with greater, compre- 
hend all the preceding within the compass of about sixteen ; 
especially when it is considered, that according to Sir Isaac that 
progress of our Lord, for which the apostles were intended to 
make way, and that after the embassy of the seventy, must be 
thrown into the first six months of this year, and is an extreme, 
and, I think, insurmountable difficulty, into which we shall not 
be driven *. 

*Tomake the reader more sensible of this, 1 shall add a brief survey ofthecom- 
pass of time, within which I suppose the principal events between the several pass- 
overs of our Lord's ministry to have happened ; referring him to the following chrono- 
logical table for a more exact view of them. 

Events which we suppose between the first and second of our Lord's passovers. 
Our Lord spends the summer, and beginning of the winter, in Judea ; about 

the winter solstice, passes through Samaria into Galilee : (Sect. 25 30.) spends the 

remainder of the winter and the spring in a circuit through Galilee, in which are in- 
cluded his visit to Nazareth, and short stay at Capernaum; and towards the close of 
the circuit, having preached his celebrated seimon on the mount, returns to Caper- 
naum. (Sect. 31 45. 

Events between the second and third passover. 
After vindicating what passed upon rubbing out the ears of corn, and curing 
the withered hand, he travels to the sea of Galilee, chuses his apostles, and makes 
another abode at Capernaum; visits Nairn, and dismisses John's messengers; all 

which might pass before the end of May: (Sect. 46 60.) Then travels with the 

twelve in his train (Luke viii. 1. Mat. ix. 35.) through the places near the sea of Ti- 
berias, perhaps, during the months of June, July, and August; (Sect. 61 73.) and 

intending a much more extensive circuit, dispatches the twelve to make way for him, 
and probably setting out quickly after them, might employ six months in this part 
of it, (Sect. 74 77.) and leave sulTicient time for his interview with the five thou- 



I shall conclude this dissertation with one reflection, which 
may perhaps be of some use to those, who have but little relish 
for the niceties of this enquiry. I mean, that when we find this 
great master, and I had almost said, so far as the title can be 
applied to a mortal man, this great father of reason, falling 
into such obvious mistakes, as I have been obhged here to point 
out, it tends to give us an humbling idea of the imperfections 
of the human mind in its present state. And consequently we 
may learn from it two of the most important lessons, that can be 

imagined in social life : A caution, lest we assert our own 

opinions with too dogmatical an air ; and a care to avoid 

such petulancy in censuring the mistakes of others, as if we 
thought none but the weakest and most contemptible of man- 
kind were capable of being misled by the specious appearances 
of some inconclusive arguments. And I will venture to say, 
that if Sir Isaac Newton's error in the order of the harmony 
teach us this candour, it Avill be a much greater benefit to us, 
than if he had placed every circumstance relating to it beyond 
all possibility of farther dispute. 

sand whom he miraculously fed, and his conference with the scribes and pharisees 
from Jerusalem, before the next passover. (Sect. 78 84, 

Events between Christ's third passover and the feast of dedication, which preceded 

his fourth. 
Allowing the time between the passover and the end of May for his journey to 
the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, and other places in Galilee, he mi^^ht return to Dal- 
iwanutha, and feed the four thousand by that time ; (Sect. 85, 86.) and if subsequent 

events and discourses (recorded Sect. 87 96.) employed h m till the end of June, 

he might then send out the seventy, and they might easily meet him at Jerusalem at 
the feast of tabernacles in September; between which, and the feast of dedication 
near the end of December, we must place his last circuit in Galilee; (Sect. 97—127.) 
unless, which is possible, we suppose it to have been begun quickly after the mission 
of the seventy, and so some part of July and September to have been employed in it. 
And indeed one cannot imagine any necessity, that all the seventy, or all the apostles, 
should have fmished their progress, before our Lord began to follow those who were 
sent to the nearest places. Or if we should suppose it, and follow Sir Isaac's scheme, 
we must of necessity place the two circuits, which followed tliese two embassies, 
within this space of time, as was hinted above ; whereas, if we consider the journey 
to the coast of Tyre and Sidon as an appendix to the former, we may (according to 
our scheme,) assign near eight months to that grand tour of our Lord, in which he 
followed the twelve, which might make it convenient to dispatch that, in which he 
followed the seventy, in proportionably less time. And I believe, that if we consider 
Galilee not to have been larger than three or four of our western counties, we shall 
Qiore easily acquiesce in the competency of the time assigned to these visits to it. 



I never had, nor never took, an opportunity of looking into 
Dupin's Life of Christ, till about a year ago, long after the 
publication of the second edition of my Paraphrase on the Evan- 
gelists : But then I found, to my agreeable surprise, a more 
perfect agreement between his scheme of the harmony and mine, 
than I expected any where to have met with ; and particularly, 
in the story of the resurrection. 

Of the 203 sections, into which I have divided the evange- 
lists, we differ only in the order of 29 : And as several of these 
are inseparably connected, there are only, on the whole, nine 
stories or discourses, in which there is a variety in our order. 

The hrst, sect. 12. The wise-men's visit to Christ ; which 
he places before the presentation, sect. 11. 

The second, sect. 37 — 43. Matthew's account of the ser- 
mon on the mount ; which he supposes to have been coincident 
with that in Luke, sect. 53, 54. which I consider as a repetition 
of it. 

The third, sect. 69, 70. The stilling the tempest, and dis- 
possessing legion, which he places before the calling of Matthew, 
and immediately after sect. 36. 

The fourth, sect. 96. Christ's reproving John for an in- 
stance of the narrowness of his spirit ; which, as a similar and 
imdetermined fact, he subjoins to sect. 93. Christ's checking 
the ambition of his disciples. 

The fifth, sect. 106. The return of the seventy; which 
he connects with the story of their mission, sect. 97. 

The sixth, sect. 118. Christ's urging the necessity of striv- 
ing for heaven, &c. which he strangely introduces between 
sect. 154, and 158. 

The seventh, the discourses and facts, sect. 126 — 135. 
which he scatters promiscuously, after sect. 105. and elsewhere. 

The eighth, sect. 170. The intimation of Judas's treachery; 
which he introduces after the eucharist, sect. 172. 

And the last, sect. 181. The warning Christ gave of Peter's 
denying him ; which he joins with sect. 171, though I take 
them to be two different predictions of the same event. 

The reader may see my reasons for the order, in which I 
have placed most of these sections, in the notes upon them : 
But I cannot forbear thinking, that such a coincidence in all the 
rest, where the one could not write frorfi the other, is a strong 
presumption in favour of both, 



No. II. 






J^ OTHING can be more evident, than that a firm and cor- 
dial belief of the inspiration of the sacred scripture is of the 
highest moment ; not only to the edification and peace of the 
church, but in a great measure to its very existence. For if 
this be given up, the authority of the revelation is enervated, 
and its use destroyed : The star which is to direct our course, 
is clouded ; our compass is broke to pieces ; and we are left to 
make the voyage of life in sad uncertainty, amidst a thousand 
rocks, and shelves, and quicksands. I hope, therefore, I may 
perform a service acceptable to God and my christian brethren, 
while I endeavour, as plainly and as briefly as I can, to place 
some leading proofs of it in a convincing view. And I under- 
take the task the more willingly, as in the preface to the first 
volume of my Faniily Expositor I laid myself under an obliga- 
tion, several years ago, to attempt something of this kind, and 
have often been reminded of it by persons, for whom I have 
the highest regard. 

I then proposed to handle the subject in a few sermons, to 
be added to those, long since published, on the evidences of 
the gospel. But on a review of that particular connection, 
which the argument I am here to pursue, has, with the history 
of the New Testament, I apprehend, it could no where appear 
better, than at the end of my exposition on the books which 
contain it. The reader will, I hope, recollect, that in the ser- 
mons just now mentioned, I have endavoured to demonstrate the 
truth of that history ; and every year convinces me more and 
more, of the unanswerable force of the evidence there displayed. 
It is with great pleasure that I reflect on the divine blessing, 
which hath seemed to attend those discourses ; and it is a great 


encouragement to me to hope, that, what I am now to offer may 
be a means of establishing some of my readers in that regard to 
the sacred oracles, which will be their best preservative against 
the errors and the vices of that licentious age in which Provi- 
dence hath cast our lot ; whereby our fidelity and our zeal are 
brought to a trial, which few ages but those of martyrdom could 
have afforded. 

It will be my business, First, to state the nature of inspi- 
ration in general, and of that kind of it, which, as I apprehend, 

we are to ascribe to the New Testament: 1 shall then prove, 

that it was undoubtedly written by such Inspiration : And 

after this, I shall briefly hint at the influence, which this im- 
portant truth ought always to have upon our temper and con- 
duct ; by inforcing which, I apprehend, I shall take the best 
method to promote a growing persuasion of the truth I am 
labouring to establish. 

I will only premise. That I do not intend this, as a full dis- 
cussion of the subject ; but only, as such a compendious view of 
the chief proofs, as may suit the place in which it stands ; and 
as may, from the easiest and plainest principles, give rational 
satisfaction to the minds of common christians ; who have not 
leisure, nor perhaps ability, to enter into all the niceties of theo- 
logical and scholastical controversy. 

I. I shall state the nature of Inspiration, and of that kind of it, 
which we are to ascribe to the New Testament. 

In this I shall be more particular, as I apprehend, the want 
of a sufficient accuracy here has occasioned some confusion in 
the reasoning of several worthy persons, who have treated this 
important subject more largely, than I must here allow myself 
to do. I shall not, however, criticise on their account of the 
matter, but plainly lay down what seems to me intelligible, 
right, and safe. 

By Inspiration in general, I would be understood to mean, 
** Any supernatural influence of God upon the mind of a rational 
creature, where it is formed to any degree of intellectual inj- 
provement, beyond what it would, at that time, and in those 
circumstances, have attained in a natural way, that is, by the 
usual exercise of its faculties, unassisted by any special divine 
interposition." Thus, if a man were instantaneously enabled 
to speak a language which he had never learned, how possible 
soever it might have been for him to have obtained an equal 
readiness in it by degrees, I believe few would scruple to say, 
that he owed his acquaintance with it to a divine inspiration. 


Or if he gave a true and exact account of what was doing at a 
distance, and published a particular relation of what he neither 
saw nor heard, as some of the prophets did ; all the world would 
own, if the affair were too complex, and the account too cir- 
cumstantial, to be the result of a luckj' guess, that he must be 
inspired with the knowledge of it ; though another account 
equally exact, given by a person on the spot, would be ascribed 
to no inspiration at all. 

But of this supernatural influence on the minds of men, 
forming- them to such extraordinary intellectual improvements 
and abilities, there are various sorts and degrees, which it will 
be of importance for us accurately to distinguish from each 

If a person be discoursing either in word or Avriting, and 
God do miraculously watch over his mind, and, however secret- 
ly, direct it in such a manner, as to keep him more secure from 
error in what he speaks or writes, than he could have been merely 
by the natural exercise of his faculties, I should say, he was in- 
spired ; even though there should be no extraordinary marks of 
high genius in the work; or even though another person, with 
a stronger memory, or relating a fact more immediately after it 
happened, might naturally have recounted it with equal exact- 
ness. Yet still, if there was in this case any thing miraculous, 
we must, on the principles above, allow an inspiration ; and I 
would call this, to distinguish it from other and higher degrees, 
an inspiration of superintendency. 

If this influence should act in such a degree, as absolutely 
to exclude all mixture of error in a declaration of doctrines or 
facts so superintended, we might then call it a plenary super- 
intending inspiration ; or, as I would chuse for popular use to 
express myself in this discourse, a full inspiration. 

Now it will from hence follow, and I desire that it may be 
seriously attended to, that a book, the contents of which are en- 
tirely true, may be said to be written by a full inspiration, even 
though it contain many things which the author might have 
known and recorded merely by the use of his natural faculties, 
if there be others which he did not so well know, or could not 
without miraculous assistance have so exactly recollected ; or if, 
on the whole, a freedom from all error would not, in fact, have 
been found, unless God had thus superintended or watched over 
his mind and pen. And in regard to such a production, it would 
be altogether impertinent and insignificant to enquire, how far 
did natural memory or natural reason operate, and in what par- 
ticular facts or doctrines did supernatural agency prevail. It 


is enough, if I know, that what the author says or. writes is true, 
though I know not particularly how he came by this or fliat 
truth : For my obligation to receive it arises from its being 
known truth, and not merely from its being made known this 
or that way. And should God miraculously assure me, that any 
particular writing contained nothing but the truth; and should 
he at the same time tell me, it had been drawn up witiiout any 
miraculous assistance at all, though I could not then cull it in- 
spired, I should be as much obliged to receive and submit to it 
on its being thus attested by God, as if every single word had 
been immediately dictated by him. 

It will farther follow from what is said above, that a book 
may be written by such full inspiration as I have described, 
though, the author being left to the choice of his own words, 
])hrases, and manner*, there may be some imperfection in the 
style and method, provided the -whole contents of it are true ; 
if the subject be so important, as to make it consistent with 
the divine wisdom miraculously to interpose, to preserve an 
entire credibility as to the exact truth of facts recorded, and 
doctrines delivered as divine. If indeed God were represented, 
as declaring such a book to be intended by him as an exact 
standard for logic, oratory, or poetry, every apparent defect 
in either would be an internal objection against it. But if it be 
represented only as intended to teach us truth, in order to its 
having a proper influence on our temper and actions, such 
defects would no more warrant or excuse our rejecting its autho- 
rity, than tlie want of a ready utterance or a musical voice 
would excuse our disregard to a person, who should bring us 
competent evidence of his being a messenger from God to us. 

I have been more particular in stating tliis kind of inspi- 
ration, because it is that, which I shall endeavour to assert 
to the sacred books of the New Testament, and this, without 
any exception or limitation, as they came out of the hands of 
the apostles ; though I allow it is possible, they may, in this or 
that particular copy, and in some minuter instances Avhich now 
perhaps affect all our remaining copies, have suffered some- 
thing by the injuries of time, or the negligence of transcribers, 
as well as printers : Which, that they have in some particulars, 
suffered, is as notorious a fact, as that there is a Avritten or a 
printed copy of them in the world ; yet is at the same time a 
fact, which no man of common sense or honesty can seriously 
urge against their authority. 

* It is very evident, that tUe learned Maimonides thought this to be the case 
with regard to the prophets ; tliough I think it least of all to be apprehended in suck 
oracles. See Maimoa. Mor. Nev. Lib. ii. cap. 29- 


Though it be the main point in my view, to prove tliat the 
New Testament is written under that kind of inspiration which 
I have been explaining, I must nevertheless beg leave to men- 
tion two other kinds, of which divines often speak, and which do 
also in a considerable degree belong to many parts of scrip- 
ture, though I think it neither expedient, material, nor safe to 
assert that they run through the whole of it : I mean, an inspi- 
ration of elevation, and of suggestion. 

The former, as its name plainl}'^ intimates, prevails, where 
the faculties, though they act in a regular, and, as it seems, a 
common manner, are nevertheless elevated, or raised to some 
extraordinary degree, so that the performance is more truly 
sublime, noble, and pathetic, than what would have been pro- 
duced merely by the force of a man's natural genius. As for 
the particular degree of the divine agency, where there is 
indeed something of this inspiration, perhaps neither the person 
that is under it, nor any other creature, may be able confi- 
dently to pronounce concerning it. Perhaps, nothing less pene- 
trating than the eye of God himself, may be able universally 
to distinguish that narrow line, which divides Avhat is natural 
from what is supernatural, in all the productions and powers 
of imagination, reasoning, and language, or in the effects and 
powers of memory under the former head. It is a curiosity, in 
the minute particulars of which we are not at all concerned ; as 
it is the same God, which, whether naturally or miraculously, 
worketh all and in all. 1 Cor. xii. 9. But if any excellency in 
the performance itself can speak it to be more than human, 
productions of this sort are to be found in scripture ; and the 
rank and education of some of the sacred penmen render the 
hand of God peculiarly conspicuous in the sublimity and lustre 
of their writings. What the gifts of the spirit may in every 
age of the church have done, by operations of this kind, we 
know not. And I think, it would be presumptuous absolutely 
to deny, that God might act in some extraordinary degree on 
some of the heathen Avriters, to produce those glorious works 
of antiquity, which have been, under the direction of his pro- 
vidence, so efficacious, on the one hand to transmit the evidences 
of divine revelation, and on the other to illustrate the necessity 
of it : In consequence of which I cannot forbear saying by the 
way, that I think they who are intimately acquainted with them, 
are of all men upon earth the most inexcusable in rejecting Chris- 
tianity. But our inability to mark out the exact boundaries 
between nature and an extraordinary divine agency, is not 
much to be regretted ; since it does not appear to be the design 



of providence, by such elevations of sentiment, style, and man- 
ner, by any means to bear testimony to the person adorned with 
them, as a messenger sent to speak in his name ; which may 
as effectually be done in the plainest and simplest forms of ex- 
pression, without any thing, which looks like the heightenings 
of art, or the sparklings of an extraordinary genius. 

The other, which divines have called immediate suggestion, 
is the highest and most extraordinary kind of inspiration ; and 
takes place, when the use of our faculties is superseded, and 
God does, as it were, speak directly to the mind ; making such 
discoveries to it, as it could not otherwise have obtained, and 
dictating the very words in which these discoveries are to be 
communicated to others : So that a person, in what he writes 
from hence, is no other than first the auditor, and then, if T 
may be allowed the expression, the secretary of God ; as John 
was of our Lord Jesus Christ, when he wrote from his sacred 
lips the seven epistles to the Asiatic churches. And it is, no 
doubt, to an inspiration of this kind, that the book of the reve- 
lation owes its original. 

It is evident from the definitions above, that there maybe a 
full superintendency, where neither of the latter kinds of inspi- 
ration, of elevation, or suggestion, take place: But I think, 
we must necessarily allow, that an inspiration of suggestion, so 
far as it goes, must also imply a full superintendency in record- 
ing the history of what has been seen or heard, in any prophe- 
tic vision, when it is necessary to make a report of it. For 
as it would, on the one hand, be impious to imagine, that the 
blessed God would dictate a falsehood to any of his creatures ; 
so neither can we suppose it consistent with the divine wisdom, 
to suffer the prophet, through infirmity, to err in delivering a 
message, with which he had expressly charged him ; and 
which would be given in vain, so far as there was a failure in 
the exact delivery of it. 

Besides the last book of the New Testament, I mean, tlie 
revelation, which I have already mentioned in this view, it seems 
evident to me, that some other parts of it were given by such a 
suggestion; seeing there are so many predictions interspersed, 
and so many mysteries revealed, which lay entirely beyond the 
ken of any human, or perhaps angelic mind. But that this is 
applicable to all the history of it, or to all things contained 
in its epistolary parts, I chuse not to assert. For as it cannot 
be necessary to its entire credibility, which nothing can more 
effectually secure, than a full superintendency, it would subject 

vol.. IV. Y 


US to many difficulties, which have been so forcibly urged by 
others, that it is not necessary for me here to repeat them. 
But I am well assured, that the apparent insufficiency of the 
answers, which have been returned to these objections by some 
ver}'^ sincere, but I think in this instance, less judicious defen- 
ders of scripture, has led some people to conclude, that the 
scripture was not inspired at all; as if it had been on both sides 
agreed, that an universal suggestion was the only kind of in- 
spiration worth contending about. The consequence of tin* 
hath been, that such as are dissatisfied Avith the arguments, 
which these defenders of the divine authoritv of the scripture 
insist upon, read the scriptures, if they read them at all, not 
to learn their authentic dictates, but to try the sentiments con- 
tained in them by the touch-stone of their own reason, and to 
separate what that shall allow to be right, from Avhat it pre- 
sumptuously concludes to be wrong. And this boasted stand* 
ard has been so very defective, that on this mistaken notion 
they have not only rejected many of the most vital truths of 
Christianity, but even some essential principles of natural 
rehgion. And thus they have in cfiect annihilated the christian 
revelation, at the very same time, that they have acknowledged 
the historical truth of the facts, on which it is built. This is 
the body of men, that have affected to call themselves cautious 
believ^ers : But their ciiaracter is so admirably well described 
under that of Agrippa, by my honoured friend Dr. Watts, in 
his little treatise called the Redeemer and Sanctifier, that it may 
be sufficient here to have hinted it thus briefly, as the reason, 
why out of I'egard to them as well as others, I have resumed the 
subject of inspiration, and endeavoured to place it in, what I do 
jin my conscience apprehend to be both a safe and rational light, 
Thatl may remedy, so far as God shall enable me to do it, 
tiie great and destructive evil, I have just been mentioning, and 
mav establish in the minds of christians a due regard to tho 
sacred oracles of eternal truth, I shall now proceed to the second 
part of this discourse : In which 

II. I am to shew, how evidently the full inspiration of the New 
Testament, in the sense stated above, follows from the ac- 
knowledged truth of the history which it contains, in all its 
leading and most important facts. 

But before I proceed to the discussion of the matter, I must 
beg leave to observe, that, though this is what I apprehend to be 
the grand argument, and that which may most properly be 
connected with an exposition of the historical books, I am very 


<fur from slioflitim; those other arijuments whicli fall not so direct- 
ly in in}' \vav here. 

I greiitly revere the testimony of the primitive christian 
writers, not only to the real existence of the sacred books in 
those early ages, but also to their divine original : Their per- 
suasion of which most evidently appears from the veneration, with 
Avhich they speak of them, even while miraculous gifts remained 
in the church ; and consequently, an exact attendance to a 
■written rule might seem less absolutely necessary, and the autho- 
rity of inferior teachers might approach nearer to that of the 
apostles. I believe every candid reader will acknowledge, that 
nothing can be objected to many strong passages in Clemens 
Romanus, Polycarp, Justin Martyr, Irenccus, Theophilus An- 
tiochenus, Clemens Alexandrinus, Tertullian,Origen,Eusebius, 
and some other ancient writers he has mentioned, that are now 
lost. It is needless to produce them here, after those valuable 
specimens of them, which Dr. Whitby and Mons. Du Pin have 
given ; and especialK'^, considering what my learned friend Dr. 
Lardiier has with so much industry and accuracy of judgment 
collected on this head in the second part of his credibility of the 
gospel history. I shall therefore content myself with observing 
here, that several of the most learned and considerable of these 
ancients speak of this veneration for the sacred writings of the 
New Testament, not as the result of their own private judgment, 
but as that, in which all the churches were unanimously agreed *. 
The internal characters of divine inspiration, with which 
every page of the New Testament abounds, do also deserve our 
attentive notice ; and render the book itself, if considered as 
detached from all external evidence whatsoever, a compendious 
demonstration of its own sacred original, and consequently of 

* Thus Origen says, (Philocal. cap. xii. page 41.) ^" o-b, ■■ - ■ <"<. 
WH®^ 'STXfx^i^aa^xi, oli ^lowiv-oi eic-iv* " TJiat if a man would not confess 
liimself to be an infidel, lie must admit the inspiration of the scriptures." And he 
elsewhere places the gospels in the number of writings, " which were received aS 
divine by all the churches of God, and were the elements, or first principles, of the 
church's faith :" Ev wacra*^- £xxX?io-<a»; ©;a 'SJivi^ivy-ivuv itvxi ©Jioiv, — — — 

Ztoi;)(;?»« Tnj ttkewj rn; t)t;tX»i«rnxj. -TertuUian also lays itdown as aflmdamcn- 

tal piinciple in disputing with heretics, " That the truth of doctrines is to be de- 
termined by scripture :" For the (juestion has evidently the f«rce of a strong nega- 
tion. Aliunde scilicet loqui possunt de Rebus Fidei, nisi c.k Littcris Fidei ? (De 

Prspscript. Heret. cap. xv.) And Eusebius quotes a much more ancient writer 

than himself, (Euseb. Eccles. Hist. Lib. v. cap. 28.) who calls the scripture, 
w<r£w> «f;i^aJ»i kxvovcc, " the rule of ancient faith;" and who afterwards speaking 
uf heretics, declares, "that if they denied the scriptures to be diunely inspired, 
thev were infidels." 

Y 2 


the certainty of that religion which it teaches. The excellency 
of its doctrines, the spirituality and elevation of its design, the 
majesty and simplicity of its style, the agreement of its parts in 
the most unsuspicious manner, with its more than human effi- 
cacy on the hearts and consciences of men, do all concur to 
give us a very high idea of the New Testament : And I am per- 
suaded, that the wiser and better any man is, and the more fa- 
miliarly he converses with these unequalled books, the more 
will he be struck with this evidence. But these things, in the 
general, are better felt than expressed ; and several of the argu- 
ments arise, not from particular passages, but from the general 
tenor of the books : and consequently, they cannot be judged 
of, but b}* a serious and attentive perusal. 

Dismissing therefore these topics, not Avith neglect, but 
■with the sincerest expressions of just and high veneration, I 
now proceed to that grand proof oif the inspiration of the New 
Testament, which is derived from the credibility of its leading 
facts ; which having so fully illustrated in the sermons referred 
to above, I think I have a just title to assume as the foundation 
of what farther reasonings may occur. 

Admitting this great principle, it is undeniably certain, — 

That Jesus of Nazareth was a most extraordinary person : — 

That after having been foretold by many prophets, in distant 
periods of time, he Avas at length, agreeably to the repeated de- 
claration of an angel, first to a priest ministering at the golden 
altar in the temple, and then to his mother, conceived by a vir- 
gin of David's family : That his birth was proclaimed by a 

choir of angels, who celebrated it in celestial anthems, as the 
foundation of peace on earth, and the most glorious display of 
divine benevolence to men : That before his public ap- 
pearance, a person greater than any of the prophets, and whose 
birth had also been foretold by an angel, was sent to prepare his 

way : That on his being baptized, he was anointed with a 

wonderful effusion of the Spirit, poured down upon him b}' a 
visible symbol : And that the efficacy of this sacred agent, con- 
tinually residing in him, was apparent throughout the whole 
course of his ministry ; not only in the unspotted sanctity of his 
life, amidst a thousand most violent temptations, and in the 
bright assemblage of virtues and graces, which shone in it with 
a lustre before unknown, and since absolutely unparalleled ; 
but also in a multitude of various works of wonder and mercy, 
which he miraculously wrought on those, whose diseases were 
of the most desperate and incurable nature, and even on the 
dead, whom that Almighty voice of his, which had driven out 


the fiercest infernal spirits, and calmed the rage of tempests, 

did with serene majesty awaken into life, as from a slumber. 

It is also on the same foundation certain, That this illustrious 
person, having by the malice of his enemies been most unjustly 
and cruelly put to death, did on the third day arise from the 

dead : x\nd that, after having given to his disciples the most 

abundant proofs of that important fact, he at length ascended to 
heaven gradually in their sight ; angels appearing, to assure them 
he should as visibly descend from thence to the universal judg- 
ment, the administration of which lie had declared to be com- 
mitted to him. 

I must freely declare, tliat had I been an entire stranger to 
the sacred story, and proceeded no farther in it than this, sup- 
posing me firmly to have believed all these wonderful things, 
though delivered in the shortest abstract that could have been 
made of them, I should readily have concluded, that this ex- 
traordinary person, being sent, as it plainly appears from the 
history, that he w^as, with a divine revelation for the benefit of 
all nations and of all ages, had taken care to leave some au- 
thentic records of the doctrine, Avhich he taught. And if I had 
farther found, that he had left no such records written by him- 
self, I should naturally have concluded, that he took effectual 
care, that some of his followers should be enabled to deliver 
down to posterity the s\'stem of religion which he taught, in the 
most accurate manner ; with all such extraordinary assistance 
from God, as the nature of the subject required, in order to 
rendering their accounts exact. And I believe, every reason- 
able man would draw this inference : Because it is very ap- 
parent, that the great end of this vast and astonishing apparatus^ 
for vast and astonishing it would appear, if what relates to 
Jesus alone were taken into the survey, must in the nature of 
things be frustrated, if no such records were provided : It being 
morally impossible, that unwritten tradition sliould convey a 
system of religion pure and uncorrupted, even to the next gene- 
ration ; and much more, that it should so convey it to the end 
of time. And it would seem, so far as we can judge, by no 
means worthy the divine Avisdom, to suffer the good effects of 
such a great and nol)le plan to be lost, for want of so easy an 
expedient : Especially, since men of the age and country in 
■which these things happened, were not only blessed with the 
use of letters, but were remarkable for their application to them, 
and for great proficiency in various branches of learning. And 
if I should not only have an abstract of this history of Jesus, 
which I judged credible, but should also be so happy as to have 


the four gospels in my hand, with convincing evidences of their 
being genuine, which we here suppose ; I should on these prin- 
ciples assuredly argue, that not only the leading facts, but like- 
wise the system of doctrines and discourses dehvered in them, 
might entirely be depended upon : Nor could I conceive the 
truth of such doctrines and discourses to be separable from the 
general truth of the leading facts referred to above; having, as 
I here suppose, proper evidences to convince nie, that the pen- 
men of these books were the persons, by whom tlie memory of 
these events was to be delivered down to posterity : Which is a 
farther principle, that none of common sense and modesty can 
pretend to contest; none appearing as their competitors, whose 
pretensions are worthy to be named. 

But my apprehension of the full authenticness and credi- 
bility of tliese writers would, on the supposition I am here mak- 
ing, greatly increase, as I proceeded to that excellent and uspful 
book, M'hich the good Providence of God has now given me an 
opportunity of illustrating; the acts of the holy apostles : Since 
I learn from thence, that in a very few days after the ascension 
of Jesus into heaven, the Spirit of God was, according to his 
promise, poured out upon his apostles in an abundant manner, 
attended with the visible appearance of a lambent celestial flame; 
And that, in consequence of this amazing unction, the poor 
fishermen of Galilee, and their companions, were in a moment 
enabled to speak, with the greatest readiness and propriety, 
Latin, Greek, Arabic, Coptic, Persic, and a variety of other 
languages, the first rudiments of Avhich they had never learnt ; 
and also to perform all kinds of miracles, equal to those of their 
master, and in some circumstances, superior to them. My vene- 
ration for the writings of these men, and I here suppose, I know 
those of the New Testament to be so, must be unparalleled, 
when I think Avho and what they were : And I am so struck 
witii this plain, but divinely powerful argument, that I must 
intreat my reader to review with me, a little more particularly, 
some of the actions and circumstances of these holy men, to 
whose writings I am labouring to conciliate his unreserved 

Let them all be considered, as preaching the gospel in that 
extraordinary manner, on the day of Pentecost ; and a few days 
after, when some of their companions had been seized and 
threatened by the Sanhedrim, as anointed again Avith such an 
effusion of the Spirit, as shook the very house in which they 
were, and inspired them all at once with the same sublime hymn 
of praise. Let thorn be considered us afterward?: led out of 


prison by an angel, and commanded by him to go and preach the 
gospel in the temple, under the remarkable phraseology of " the 
words of this life ;" as if the whole life and happiness of the human 
race depended on their knowing and receiving it. Nor let us 
here forget that extraordinary power, common to all the apos- 
tles, of communicating the miraculous gifts of the spirit by the 
imposition of their hands. Had we nothing particularly to say 
of any one, more than these grand things which, we hear of them 
all, it must surely command our reverence to their writings, 
and set them at a vast distance from any of merely human 

But through the singular providence of God it hath so hap- 
pened, that we have the most particular history of the lives of 
those apostles, to Avhose Avritings we are generally most indebt- 
ed : I mean, John, Peter and Paul. 

With respect to John we know, that besides the concern he 
had in the cure of the lame man, he was favoured with the visions 
of God in the Isle of Patmos ; where our Lord, after an abode 
of more than half a century on the throne of his glory at his Fa- 
tlicr's right hand, did him the unequalled honour to use him as 
liis amanuensis, or secretary; expressly dictating to lim the 
letters he was pleased to send to the seven churches in Asia. 
How easily then may we suppose him so to have presided ov<.'r 
liis other writings, as to have secured him from mistakes in 
them ! 

Consider Peter, as striking Ananias and Sapphira dead Avith 
a word ; as curing, by the like powerful word, one cripple at 
Jerusalem, and another at Lydda; and calling back Dorcas, 
even from the dead. Let us view him in that grand circum- 
stance, of being marked out so particularly by an angel to Cor- 
nelius, and sent to him as the oracle of God himself, from whom 
that worthy and honourable person was to hear w^ords, by which 
he and all his house should be saved : And after this, let us view 
liim, as once more delivered out of the hand of Heroil, and from 
all the expectation of the people of the Jews, by an angel, who 
struck otf his chains, and opened the doors of his prison, the 
very night before he was to have been executed. And let any 
one, with these particulars in his eye, added to the foregoing, in 
Avhich he shared with all his brethren, say, what more could be 
necessary, to prove the divine inspiration of what he taught ; so 
far as inspiration was requisite, to render it entirely autlientic : 
Or let any one farther say, upon what imaginable pretence the 
authority of his writings can be denied^ if that of his preaching 
be granted. 


And to mention no more, let Paul, that great scribe, in- 
structed in the kingdom of heaven, to whose pen we owe so 
many invaluable epistles, lie considered in the same view : And 
let us endeavour to impress our minds with the various scenes, 
through which we know he passed, and the distinguished favours, 
Avith which his master honoured him ; that Ave may judge, how 
we are to receive the instructions of his pen. Let us therefore 
think of him, as so miraculously called by the voice of Christ to 
the profession of his gospel, when he was persecuting it even 
to the death ; as receiving a full and distinct revelation of that 
glorious, but to him quite unknown gospel, by the immediate 
inspiration of its divine author ; which is a fact he expressly 
witnesses, and in which he could not possibly be mistaken. 
Think of the lustre of those astonishing works, which shone 
round him wherever he went, and of those wrought in bis 
favour, which shewed him so eminently the care of heaven : 
Daemons ejected ; distempers cured, sometimes with a touch, 
and sometimes Avithout, by a garment sent from him to the 
patient ; his motions guided from place to place by a divine 
oracle ; Elymas struck blind for opposing him ; his bands loosed 
by an earthquake ; his strength and vigour instantaneously 
restored, when the rage of the mutable and barbarous populace at 
Lystra had stoned him and left him for dead ; and to add no 
more, his safety in a shipwreck, with that of near three hundred 
more in the same vessel for his sake, promised by an angel, 
and accomplished without the loss of a single person, when they 
had expected nothing but an universal ruin. Let us, I say, 
think of Paul in these circumstances ; and with these facts full 
in our view, let us judge, whether it is at all probable, yea 
whether it be morally possible, that a man, sent out and attend- 
ed with such credentials as these, should be so left of God, 
amidst all these tokens of his constant care, as to mingle error 
with sound doctrine, and his own fancies with the divine reve- 
lations, which we are sure he received : Or whether, if he were 
not left to such effects of human frailty in his preaching, but 
might have been regarded by his hearers with entire credit, he 
would be left to them in those writings, by which he was, as it 
were, to preach to all future generations of men, from one end 
of the world to the other, and by which, being dead, he yet 
speaketh, in all languages, and to all christian assemblies. 

I cannot forbear thinking this plain argument, so well 
adapted to popular use, abundantly sufficient to carry convic- 
tion to every candid mind, in proportion to the degree of its 
attention and penetration. And I am almost afraid, that some 


should think I have bestowed a,n unnecessar3Hahoiir, thus parti- 
cularly to state a matter, which hath such a flood of li^ht poured 
in upon it from ahnost ev^er\^ P^g^ of the sacred story. But I 
have been obhged, in the course of this exposition, to meditate 
much on these facts ; and under the deep impression I could not 
but speak, as out of the fulness of my heart. 

Yet after all I have already said, I should be very unjust to 
this ar<2;ument, if I did not endeavour to represent to my reader, 
how much it is strengthened, on the one hand, by the express 
and comprehensive promises, ^vhich our Redeemer made to his 
apostles ; and on the other, by the peculiar language in which 
the apostles themselves speak of their preaching and writings, 
and the high regard they challenge to each ; a regard, which 
nothing could justify them in demanding, but a consciousness 
that they were indeed under a full inspiration. 

The promises of our Lord Jesus Christ must undoubtedly 
have a very great weight -with all, that have reflected on that 
indisputable testimony, which God himself bore to him in num- 
berless instances. And therefore, though they are so very well 
known, I must beg leave, not only to refer to them, but to recite 
the chief of them at large : And I entreat the reader to consider, 
how he can reconcile them with an apprehension, that our Lord 
Jesus Christ did at the same time intend to leave the persons to 
whom he made such promises, liable to mistake both in facts 
atid doctrines ; and being deceived themselves, to mislead such 
as should depend upon their testimony, where they professed 
themselves to be thoroughly informed. 

In that copious and excellent discourse, Avhich our Lord 
addressed to the apostles, just before he quitted the guest- 
chamber to go to the garden of Gethsemane, that is, but a few 
hours before his death, the grand consolation he urges to his 
sorrowful disciples, is this ; that he would send his Spn-it upon 
them. The donation of which Spirit is represented, as the first 
fruits of Christ's intercession ; when after so long an absence, 
and such terrible sufferings, he should be restored to his Fa- 
ther's embraces. This is spoken of as the first petition preferred 
by him, and the first favour granted to his church for his sake : 
John xiv. 16. I will pray the Father, and he shall give you 
another comforter, that he may abide WMth you for ever. Yea, 
Christ declares, and he could not be mistaken in it, that the 
agency of this Spirit should so abundantly counter-balance all 
the advantages, they received from his bodily presence, that 
strong as their affection to him was, they would in that view 



have reason to rejoice in his leaving them : (John x\n. 1.) J 
tell you the truth, that is, I say, what may be depended upon as 
t most important certainty, and very important indeed such a, 
representation was ; it is expedient for you that I go away ; 
for if I go not away, the comforter will not come unto you ; but 
if I depart, I will send him unto you. Now from these expres-. 
sions, were they alone, I think w^ might probable infer, that 
the apostles, after having received the Spirit, would be in no 
more danger of erring in their writings, than they would have 
been, if Jesus himself had been alwa^'s near them, to inform 
them concerning any fact or doctrine, of which they might 
have occasion to speak. 

This is farther confirmed by the title which is given him 
no less than thrice in this discourse, the Spirit of truth ; almost 
in a breath with these great and weighty circumstances, that 
he should abide with them /o7' ever; John xiv. 16,17. that he 
should guide them into all truth, that he should teach them all 
things, yea, and shew them things to come; John xvi. 13. 
which must surely secure them from any danger of erring in re- 
lating things that were past. But lest any should be perverse 
enough to dispute the consequence, our Lord particularly men- 
tions this effect of the Spirit's operation, that they should thereby 
be fitted to bear a testimony to him, as those who had long 
been conversant with him, and whose memories were miracu- 
lously assisted in recollecting those discourses which they had 
heard from him : John xv. 26, 27. IVhen the Comforter is come, 
whom I will send unto you from the Father., even the Spirit of 
of truth, which proccedeth from the Father, he shall testify of 
tne ; and ye also, being so assisted, shall bear witness, because 
yc have been with me from the beginning. And again, John 
xiv. 26. The Holy Ghost shall teach you all things, and bring 
all things to your remembrance, whatsoever J have said unto 

Soon after this, our Lord, on the very day, in which be rose 
from the dead, in a dependance on the aids of this promised 
Spirit, gives them a commission, which nothing but its plenary 
inspiration could have answered, or have qualified them to 
fulfil : For coming to them, he declares, John xx. 21. As my 
Father hath sent me, even so send I you : And upon this he 
breathed upon them, and said, Receive ye the Holy Ghost : 
Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted ; and whose- 
soever ye retain, they are retained : Which, whether it signifies 
a power of inflicting and removing miraculous punishments, 
or of authoritatively declaring that sins were in particular 


instances forgiven or retained, must, either way, suppose''such a 
constant presence of Christ with them, as it is hard, or rather 
impossible, to reconcile, with supposing them to err in what 
they wrote for the; instruction of the church in succeeding ages. 

These are the gfand passages, on which 1 rest this part of 
the argument : Yet I think, I ought not to omit those, in which 
Christ promises tliem such extraordinar}'^ assistance of the Spirit, 
while defending his cause in the presence of magistrates ; and 
it is the more proper to mention them, as the language in which 
they are made is so remarkable. On this occasion then he tells 
them. Mat. x. 19, 20. JVhen they deliver you up, take no 
thought how or what ye shall speak, /or it shall be given you in 
that same hour what ye shall speak, for it is not you that speaky 
but the Spirit of your Father that speaketh in you. May we not 
therefore on the same principles conclude, that when they were 
to write for the use of all future generations of Christians, it was 
not so much they, who wrote, as the Spirit of the Father, who in 
effect wrote by them, and, as it were, dictated to them ? For the 
occasion will surely appear as important, in one instance, as in 
the other ; or rather much more important in the latter, than in 
the former ; as an errot in their writings would have a much 
more extensive and lasting influence, than a slip of their tongues 
in a transient pleading before a magistrate. Nay, to give this 
argument the greatest possible weight, we find that the same 
promise was made, almost in the very same words, Luke xii, 
11,12. to persons in the dignity of their office inferior to the 
apostles ; I mean, to the seventy ; which might have intitled 
their writings to such a regard, as I am now labouring to engage 
to those of tlieir superiors. 

I shall only farther remind the reader, that our Lord, when 
just ascending to heaven, refers to that effusion of the Spirit, 
which was quickly after to happen, even before they departed 
from Jerusalem, as the sera, from whence the grand accom- 
pUshment of the promises relating to the aids of the Spirit was 
to be dated. See Luke xxiv. 49. Acts i. 4, 5. And as all the 
apostolical writings which now remain, were written several 
years after that event, it plainly proves, they lie within the pe- 
riod, in which they were to expect all the assistance which these 
promises import. 

The most plausible objection, which can be urged against 
the application of these promises to the matter now before us, 
is this : " That these promises only refer to the supernatural 
assistance, granted to the apostles on great and pressing occa- 

Z 2 


sions : But that they might easily, without such assistance, 
have written a true account of the hfeand preaching of Christ, 
and of such other facts as they record ; and conseijuently, that 
tlieir historical writings at least, how credible soever we sup* 
pose them, might be drawn up without any inspiration at all." 

To this I might reply, That if it be allowed, that the apos- 
tles, in the books which we have been endeavouring to explain, 
Avrote the exact truth, and that in their epistles they have made 
a right and unerring representation of the revelation with which 
they were charged, so that we may safely make their writings a 
rule both of faith and practice, the remaining question Avould 
only be about the propriety of using the word inspiration, when 
speaking of them ; and therefore would, on the principles I 
have laid down above, be comparatively of small importance, 
Yet I think it easy, in that view of the question, to prove that 
these writmgs could not have been thus entirely credible, if they 
had not been written under such a full inspiration of superinten- 
tlency, as is stated in the first part of this discourse. 

I do indeed allow, and no candid man can dispute it, that 
the penmen of the New Testament, supposing them able to 
write at all, might merely by the natural exercise of their me- 
niorj', under the direction of the common sense and reason of 
men, have given us a plain, faithful, and very useful account 
of many extraordinary scenes, to which they had been witnesses 
during the time they conversed with Jesus on earth, and in 
which they were active after his ascension. And I cannot for- 
bear saying, that supposing the truth of the grand leading facts, 
as, that Jesus of Nazareth taught a doctrine confirmed by mi- 
racles, and was. himself raised from the dead, I should have 
esteemed such writings, supposing them merely an honest ac- 
count of what such men must have known, to be beyond all 
comparison the most valuable records of antiquity. But when 
these writings came to be perused, it is evident to me, from the 
particular contents of them, that honest and worthy men would 
never have pretended to have written in such a manner, if they 
liad not been conscious of superior direction, and extraordinary 
divine influence. 

For the historians of whom we speak, do not merely give 
us H very circumstantial account of actions; as what journies 
Christ made, Avhat miracles he performed, in what manner he 
was received, where, and how he died, and rose again, and 
•iscendod into lieaven : But thcv do also, as we may reasonably 
expect they should, give us an account of the doctrine he 
taught : And indeed, if they had not done this, the knowledge 


of his story, amazing as it is, would have been but an unprofita- 
ble amusement to us. Nor do they content themselves with 
giving us a short summary of his doctrine, or a view of the reli- 
gion he intended to introduce, as the general result of their 
having attended so long on his instructions ; but they presume 
to tell us his very words. And here, they do not merely relate 
some short sayings, the remarkable poignancy of which, or 
their propriety to the circumstances in which they were spo- 
ken, might have struck the memory with a peculiar force ; but 
they insert long discourses, which he made on public occasions ; 
though they do not pretend, that he left any copies of them, or 
that they themselves took them from any written memoirs what- 
soever : And it is worth our notice, that, besides the many 
shorter sayings and replies, with which the history is inters- 
persed, near one half of the four gospels is taken up with the 
insertion of these discourses *. 

Now it was highly necessary, that if these speeches of our 
Lord were recorded at all, they should be recorded with great 
exactness : For many of them relate to the system of doctrines 
which he came to teach ; and others of them are predictions of 
future events, referring to a great variety of curious circum- 
stances, where a small mistake might greatly have affected the 
credit of the prediction, and with it the cause of Christianity in 
general : So that common prudence would have taught the 
apostles to wav-e them, rather than pretend to deliver them to 
posterity, if they had not been sure, they could have done it ex- 

But how could they have expected to have done this, 
merely by the natural strength of their own memories ; unless 
W'e imagine each of them to be a prodigy in that respect, to 
which no one of them makes the least shadow of a pretence ? It 
is well known, that several of those speeches of Christ which 
Matthew and John give us, not now to mention the other evan- 
gelists, contain several pages; and some of them cannot be de- 
liberately and decently read over in less tiian a quarter of an 
hour. Now I believe, if my reader would make the experi- 
ment on any thing of that length which he read or heard yester- 
day, or even on one of those discourses of Christ, though per- 
haps he has read or heard it an hundred times ; he would find, 
on a careful examination, many things would probably be 

* If my computation does not deceive me, 93 of our 203 sections are taken 
up thus, and some of them are long sections too: And the number of verges con- 
tained in these discourses, to that of the whole, is as about IIOO to 3'?'79, which is the 
number of verses in the four gospels. 


omitted ; many transposed ; many expressed in a different itiari- 
ner : And were he to write a copy of such a discourse from his 
memory, and then critically to compare it with the original, he 
would find the sense, in many particulars, v l)ere there was some 
general resemblance, more different than he could perhaps havd 
imagined ; and variations, Avhich at first seemed but inconsi- 
derable, would appear greatly to affect the sense, when they 
came to be more nicely reviewed. If this would so probably 
be the case with ninety-nine out of a hundred of mankind, and 
I certainly speak within compass, when a discourse to be repeat- 
ed, had been delivered but a day or an hour before ; w hat could 
be expected from the apostles, with an interval of so many 
years ? And especially from John, who has, in proportion to the 
leftgth of his gospel, recorded more speeches than any of the 
rest, and wrote them, if we may credit the most authentic tradi- 
tion, more than half a century after our Lord's ascension ? 

This argument would have great weight, with relation fo a 
man, whose life was ever so peaceful, and his affairs contracted 
in the narrowest sphere : But it will be greatly strengthened, 
when we come to consider the multitude and variety of scenes, 
and those too the most interesting that can be imagined, through 
which the apostles passed. When we consider all their labours, 
and their cares; the journies they were continually taking; the 
novelty of objects perpetually surrounding them; and, above 
all, thie persecutions and dangers to which they were daily ex- 
posed ; and the strong manner, in which the mind is struck, and 
the memory of past circumstances erased by such occurrences; 
I cannot conceive, that any reader will be so unreasonable, as to 
imagine, these things could have been written with any exact- 
ness by the apostles, if they had not been miraculously assisted 
in recording them. And what is particularly mentioned by the 
last of these writers, of the promised agency of the Spirit to bring 
to their remembrance all things they had heard from Christ 
himself; John xiv, 26. must I think incontestably prove, that 
this was one purpose for which the Spirit was given ; and there- 
fore, we may be sure, that it was a purpose for which it was 

I hope, I have by this time convinced my reader, that it is 
agreeable to the other circumstances of the apostles' story, and to 
the promises which our Lord so largely and so frequently made 
to them, and the frequent repetition of the promise strongly in- 
timates the importance of it, to suppose, that they were indeed 
favoured with a full inspiration in their writings. 

But to complete the argument, it must be observed, that 


these holy men, for such the history plainly shews them to have 
been, assume to themselves such an authority, and speak of their 
own discourses and writings in such peculiar language, as no-r 
thing but a consciousness of such inspiration could warrant, or 
even excuse. 

To make us duly sensible of the force of this argument, let us 
bear Paul, Peter, and John, and we shall find the remark appli- 
cable to tliem all ; though as St. Paul wrote much more than 
either of the latter, we may naturally expect to find the most 
frequent instances of it in his writings. 

When the apostle Paul had taken notice to the Corinthians, 
that the subject of his preaching was the wisdom of God in a, 
mystery, and related to things which transcended the sense and 
imagination of men, he adds, 1 Cor. ii. 10. But God hath re- 
vealed them to us by his Spirit; for the Spirit searcheth all things^ 
even the deep things of God: And again, ver. 12. We have re- 
ceived, not the spirit of the world, so as tq act in that artful way, 
which a regard to secular advantage dictates ; but the Spirit 
which is of God, that we may know the things that are freely 
given us of God. Now it is natural to conclude from hence, that 
this knowledge being given them, not merely or chiefly for 
themselves, but for the church, in which view they speak of 
themselves and their office, as the gift of God to the church; 
compare Eph. iv. 11, 12, and 1 Cor. iii, 21 — 23. they should 
be assisted to communicate it in a proper manner; since other- 
wise, the end of God in giving it to them would be frustrated. 
But the apostle does not content himself with barely suggesting 
this; but he asserts it in the most express terms; 1 Cor. ii. 13. 
Which things also we speak, not in the words which man's wis- 
dom teacheth, that is, not with a vain ostentation of human elo- 
quence; but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual 
things with spiritual; or, as some would render and paraphrase 
it, adapting spiritual expressions to spiritual things*. And in 
the close of the chapter, when with a noble freedom, in a con- 
sciousness of the distinguished character he bore, he puts the 
question to the whole world besides; Who hath known the mind 
of the Lord? he adds, But we have the mind of Christ. Which 
last clause plainly determines the sense, in which we are to take 
those Avords at the close of chap. vii. And I ihink also, that I 
have the Spirit of Godf; that is, " I ccrtanily appear to have 
It ;" or, «' it is evident and apparent, that my pretences to it are 
not a vain boast." For, after having so expressly asserted it 



just above, none can imagine, he meant here to insinuate, tliat 
he was uncertain, whether he had it, or not. He appeals there- 
fore to those whose gifts were most eminent, to dispute it, if they 
could : J Cor. xiv. 37. // any man think himself to he a pro- 
phet, or spiritual, that is, if he have ever so good evidence that 
he really is so, for it cannot be thought, he meant to appeal on- 
ly to those, who falsely pretended to these endowments, let him 
acknowledge, that the things which I write unto i/ou, are the 
comnianc/ments of the Lord. — In his second epistle to the Corin- 
thians, chap. ii. 10. he speaks oi forgiving offenders in the per- 
sonof Christ ; and amidst the humblest acknowledgments of //;> 
own insufficiency , boasts a sufficiency of God, who had made him 
an able minister of the New Testament. 2 Cor. iii. 5, 6. Of 
■which he was so thoroughly sensible, that in the first epistle, 
■which he ever wrote, so far as scripture informs us, to any of 
the churches, I mean, his first epistle to the Thessalonians, he 
ventures to say, chap. iv. 8. He that despiseth, that is, as the 
context plainly implies, he that despiseth or reiecteth what I 
now Avrite, despiseth not man, only or chiefly, but God, who hath 
given us his Holy Spirit: Which manifestly intimates, that what 
he wrote was under supernatural divine guidance and influence, 
as in the second verse of that chapter be had spoken of com- 
mandments which he had given them by the Lord Jesus Christ ; 
just as he afterwards declared to the Corinthians, 2 Cor. xiii. 3. 
how well be was able to give proofs of Christ speaking in him. — 
In his epistle to the Galatians, the apostle solemnly assures them. 
Gal. i, 11, 12. that the gospel which he had preached among 
then), was not after man, that is, not of any human original : 
And he gives this substantial proof of it, that he was himself 
taught it, no otherwise than by the immediate revelation of Jesus 
Christ. Agreeably to which assertion, when "he gives the Co- 
rinthians an account of the institution and design of the Lord's 
supper, he says in so many words, 1 Cor. xi. 23. 7 hat he had 
received of the Itord, what he delivered unto them; that is, that 
he had his notion of that sacrament, and of the actions and words 
of Christ on which it is was founded, by an immediate inspira- 
tion from him, or, in the language we have used above, by sug- 
gestion. And he speaks of his bretln-en, as well as of himself, 
in these terms, Eph. iii. 3, 5. That the mystery of Christ which 
was before unknown, that is, the right of the Gentiles, on believ- 
ing the gospel, to full communion with the Christian cliurch, was 
made known to the holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit, and 
not merely by the natural recollection of what they had heard 
Christ say, or by their own reasonings upon it. 



Most agreeable to this is the strain of Peter, ^vho, in one 
epistle, joins the commandment of the apostles with the words 
of the holy prophets ; 2 Peter iii. 2. and mentions the epistles 
of Paul with other scriptures, verse 15, 16. no doubt, in allusion 
to the sacred oracles of the Old Testament, which so generally 
■went by that name. And in his other epistle, he insists strenu- 
ously upon it, that the gospel was preached with the Holij Ghost 
sejit down from heaven, in exact conformity to the prophetic 
oracles of former ages, not understood by those who uttered 
them ; a circumstance, in this connection, highly worthy of our 
remark : And he seems strongly to intimate, that the angels 
themselves, did by these apostolical preachings learn some 
things, which, with all their superior faculties, they did not before 
so full}' know : Which things, says he, iJie angels desire to look 
into ; 1 Peter i. 12. As Paul had also said, that, to the principa- 
lities and powers in heavenly places, was ftiade known bj/ the 
church, the manifold wisdomof God. Eph. iii. 10. 

To conclude this argument, St. John, remarkable as he 
was for his singular modesty and ingenuity of temper, does not 
only tell us, that Jesus Christ shewed him tiie revelation ; Rev. 
i. 1. but speaks in his epistle, of an unction poured out from 
the holy one, by which they knew all things. 1 John ii. 20. 
And in anotiier passage he in effect asserts, that he had, in 
concurrence with his brethren, given such abundant proof of 
his being under the divine influence and direction in his 
teaching, whether by word or letter, that an agreement or dis- 
agreement with his doctrine was to be made tiie standard by 
■which they might judge of truth or error, and obedience or 
disobedience to his injunctions the test of a good or a bad man ; 
which is considerably more, than merely asserting the fullest in- 
spiration. 1 John iv. 6. We are of God: He that knoweth God, 
heareth us; he that is not of God, heareth not us : Hereby know 
we the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error. 

I might here add, if it were necessary, the several passages 
of the New Testament, in which the gospel preached by the 
apostles, is called the gospel of God; such as 2 Cor xi. 7. 1 Tim. 
i, 1 1 . and the like ; But I omit them, as the stress of the contro- 
versy does undoubtedly rest on these I have mentioned ; and 
the importance of the question must be my defence for so large 
an enumeration of texts, which are so well known. 

I shall only remind my reader in a few words, of those 
many passages, in which the gospel as preached by the apostles, 
is so evidently equalled with, yea, and preferred to the law- 
given by Moses, and the messages brought to the Jews by the 
VOL. IV. A a 


succeeding prophets. These afford a further illustration of 
this argument, which -will appear with very considerable 
weight, when we reflect on the high opinion they had of the 
Old Testament, and the honourable terms in which they 
speak of it, as the worJand oracles of God, Rom. iii. 2. as given 
by his inspiration, 2 Tim. iii. 16. and as that, which holy men 
spake, as they 'were moved, or borne on, Ijpipix.mi.'] by the Holy 
Ghost. 2 Peter i. 21. None can fail of observing, that they 
quote its authority on all occasions, as decisive; yea, our Lord 
himself strongly intimates, not only the strict truth of the 
whole, but which is much more, that it were intolerable to sup- 
pose it chargeable with any impropriet}' of expression ; for this 
must be the sense of those remarkable words, John x. 35. that 
the scripture catmot be broken ; and the Avhole force of our 
Lord's argument depends upon interpreting them thus. I 
might argue at large the improbability, and indeed the great 
absurdity of supposing, that such assistances were given to 
Moses and the prophets, as to make their writings an infallible 
rule of faith and practice, and that the subjects of God's only 
begotten Son, and the grand minister in his kingdom, should be 
left destitute of equal assistance in their work and writings. I 
think the argument would be unanswerable, if considered apart: 
But I now mention it in another view, as illustrating the per- 
suasion, the apostles had of their own inspiration, when they 
speak of their teachings and decisions, as equally authentic 
with those of the illustrious prophets, for whom they had so 
great and so just a regard. 

I am fully satisfied, that this last argument, from the manner 
in which the apostles speak of themselves in their writings, 
will strike the reader, in proportion to the degree, in which he 
reflects upon the true character of these excellent men, and 
especially upon that modesty and humility, in which thev bore 
so bright and so lovely a resemblance of their divine Master. 
Let him ask himself, what he would think of any minister of 
Christ now, supposing him ever so eminent for learning, wis- 
dom, and piety, that should assume to himself such an autho- 
rity ? Supposesuch a man, under the influence of no miraculous 
guidance, to say, not with reference to what he might quote 
from others, but with regard to his own dictates, The thitigs 
ivhich I write unto you, are the commandments of the Lord: 
He that despiseth, despiseth not man, but God : We have the 
mind of Christ ; and he that heareth not us, that receiveth not 
our dictates in rehgion, is not of God : Suppose, I say, such 
language as this to be used publicly by any christian minister 


now on earth, and you must nccessarilv suppose his cliaracter 
from that very hour overthrown. The whole world would 
immediately join in loudly demanding miraculous proofs to 
verify such assertions; or in condemning, with just indignation, 
sucii a claim unsupported by them, as an unpardonable lording 
it over men's faith and conscience, and thrusting themselves 
into their master's throne. Let us not then charge the holy 
apostles with a conduct, of which we should not suspect any 
wise and good man now upon the face of the earth ; and which 
if we saw in any of our friends, our charity and respect for 
them would incline us to enquire after some marks of lunacy in 
them, as its best excuse. 

I have now given an easy and popular view of the principal 
arguments for the inspiration of the New Testament*, on which 
my own faith in that important doctrine rests ; and such an 
one„ as I hope by the divine blessing may be useful to others. 
I shall not enter into a particular consideration of the several 
objections against it, which chiefly arise from texts of scrip- 
ture, in which some pretend to find, that the apostles were 
actually mistaken. 1 have considered most of these objections 
already, in my notes on the texts from Avhence they are taken : 
B'or almost all of them relate to passages in the historical books, 
and I don't know that I have omitted any of them ; but have 
every where given, though as briefly as I could, such solutions 
as appeared to me in conscience satisfactory, though I have not 
stood formally to discuss them as objections against the inspi^ 
ration of those books. 

The reader will observe, that very few instances have oc- 
curred, in which I have judged it necessary to allow an error 
in our present copies : But as in those few instances the sup- 
posed change of a word or two makes the matter perfectly easy, 
I think it most respectful to the sacred writings, to account for 
the seeming difficulty thus, and to impute it to the transcribers; 
though it is certain, some of these mistakes, supposing them 
such, did happen very early ; because, as Mr. Seed very pro- 
perly expresses it in his excellent sermon on this subject f , 
■which, since I wrote the former part of this dissertation, fell into 
my hands, a partial inspiration is, to all intents and purposes, no 
inspiration at all : For, as he justly argues against the supposi- 

* I was desired by a friend, for whose piety and good sense I have a veiy 
great regard, to add a note here, on the inspiration of the Old Testament : But as 
it would require a large one, and might perhaps interrupt the reader, I chuse to 
throw it into a postscript at the end of this dissertation. 

f See Mr. Seed's Sermon, vol. ii. page 3'29. 

A a 2 


tion of anv mixture of error in these sacred writinsfs, " Man- 
kind would be as much embarrassed, to know what was inspired, 
and what was not, as they could be to collect a religion for 
themselves ; the consequence of which would be, that we are 
left just where we were, and that God put himself to a great 
expence of miracles to effect nothing at all : A consequence, 
highly derogatory and injurious to his honour." 

The arguments brought from a few passages in the epistles, 
to prove that the apostles did not think themselves inspired, 
•weak as they are, will be considered, if God permit, in their 
proper places. At present I shall content myself with referring 
the reader to Dr. Whitby, who I think has given a satisfactory 
solution to them all. 

There are other objections of a quite different class, with 
which I have no concern ; because they affect only such a de- 
gree of inspiration, as 1 think it not prudent, and am sure it is 
not necessary, to assert. I leave them therefore to be answered 
by those, if any such there be, who imagine that Paul would 
need an immediate revelation from heaven, and a miraculous 
dictate of the Holy Ghost, to remind Timothy of the cloak and 
writings which he left at Troas, or to advise him to mingle a 
little wine with his water. 

Waving therefore the farther discussion of these topics, on 
which it would be more easy than profitable to enlarge, I shall 
conclude this dissertation with a reflection or two of a practical 
nature, into Avhich I earnestly intrcat the reader to enter with a 
becoming attention. 

Let me engage him seriously to pause, and consider, what 
sort of an impression it ought to make upon us, to think that 
we have such a book ; a book, written by a full divine inspira- 
tion : That amidst all the uncertain variety of human reason- 
ings and conjectures, we have a celestial guide through the la- 
byrinth : That God hath condescended to take care, that we 
should have a most authentic and unerring account of certain 
important, though very distant facts, many of which were 
wrought Avith his own hand ; and with these facts, should have 
a system of most Aveighty and interesting doctrines, to the 
truth of which he makes himself a witness. Such a book must 
to every considerate person appear an inestimable treasure ; and 
it certainly calls for our most affectionate acknowledgment, that 
God should confer such a favour on any of his creatures, and 
much more on those, who by abusing in too many instances 
their natural light, had made themselves so utterly unworthy of 


From this view of the inspiration of scripture, we may also 
infer our obHgation to study it with the greatest attention and 
care ; to read it in our closets and our families ; and to search 
in the most dihgent and impartial manner into its genuine sense, 
design, and tendency : which is, in the main, so evident, that no 
upright heart can fail of understanding it, and every truly good 
heart must delight to comply with it. This is indeed a most 
important inference, and that, without which, all our convictions 
of its divine authority will only condemn us before God and 
our own consciences. Let us therefore always remember, that 
in consequence of all these important premises, we are indis- 
pensably obliged to receive with calm and reverend submission 
all the dictates of scripture ; to make it our oracle ; and, in this 
respect, to set it at a due distance from all other writings what- 
soever ; as it is certam, there is no other book in the world, that 
can pretend to equal authority, and produce equal or compara- 
])le proofs to support such a pretension. Let us measure the 
truth of our OAvn sentiments, or those of others, in the great 
things which scripture teaches, by their conformity to it. And 

that the powerful charm of this blessed book might prevail 
to draw all that do sincerely regard it, into this centre of unity ! 
That, dropping those unscriptural forms, which have so lament- 
ably divided the church, we might more generally content our- 
selves with the simplicity of divine truths as they are here taught, 
and agree to put the mildest and kindest interpretation we can, 
upon the language and sentiments of each other. This is what 

1 cannot forbear inculcating again and again, from a firm per- 
suasion, that it is agreeable to the spirit of the gospel, and 
pleasing to its great Author : And 1 inculcate it in this place, 
and at this time, with peculiar affection, as the providence of God 
around us calls us loudly to do all we can with a safe consci- 
ence, to promote a union among protestants. And I heartily 
pray, that our mutual jealousies and prejudices, which some are 
so unseasonably labouring to exasperate, may not provoke God 
to drive us together by a storm of persecution ; if peradventure 
the bond of suffering together may be strong enough to bind 
those, whom the endearments of the same christian profession, 
the same rule of faith, of manners, and of hope, have not yet 
been able to unite. 

On the whole, Let me most affectionately invite and in- 
treat every reader, whatsoever his rank in life, or his profici- 
ency in learning may be, seriously to consider the practical de- 
sign of these sacred oracles, the sense and authority of which I 
have been endeavouring to explain and assert. It is indeed a 


in3stcrv in divine Providence, that there should still remain so 
much difficulty in them, as that in many points of doctrine, 
tiioughtful, serious, and I trust, upright men should form such 
different ojiinions concerning the interpretation of so many pas- 
sages, and the justice of consequences drawn from them, on the 
one side, and on the otlier. But of this there can be no contro- 
versy, " That the great design of the New Testament, in de- 
hghtful harmony with the old, is to call off our minds from the 
present world, to establish us in the belief of a future state, and 
to form us to a serious preparation for it, b\' bringing us to a 
lively faith in Christ, and, as the genuine effect of that, to a 
fdial love to God, and a fraternal affection for each other :" 
Or, in one word, and a weightier and more comprehensive sen- 
tence was never written, to teach us, that denying migodliness 
and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly 
in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, even the 
glorious appearance of the great (rod and our Saviour Jesus 
Christ. Tit. ii. 12, 13. To his Almighty hand may our souls 
be committed, by a faitli productive of these glorious fruits ; 
and, under the sanctifying, quickening, and supporting influ- 
ences of his Spirit, may we wait for his mercy unto eternal life ! 
Then shall no terror of suffering, no allurement of pleasure, no 
sophistry of error be able to seduce us ; but guided by that 
light and truth, which shines forth in the sacred pages, we shall 
march on to that holy hill ; where, having happily escaped all 
the dangers of that dark path, which we uow tread, we shall 
greet the daAvning of an everlasting day, the arising of a day- 
star which shall so down no more. Amen I 




By which the Inspiration of the Old Testament imy he proved in the easiest 
Method, and by the ?uost solid and convincing Evidence. 

IF the proof of the inspiration of the Old Testament be 
deduced in its full compass from its first principles, we must 
have recourse to a method, very nearly resembling that, which 
is taken in the three sermons referred to above, for proving the 
authority of the New ; that is, we must first prove, That the 
books are genuine ; and then. That the history, which they 
contain, is credible : From which premises the inspiration of the 
Old Testament may easily be inferred, by a train of arguments 
similar to that, Avhich we have pursued in the dissertation above. 

For proving the genuineness of the books, I should think 
it proper briefly to shew, what I think hardly an}^ will be so 
ignorant and confident as to deny. That the Jewish religion is 
of considerable antiquity, and was founded by Moses about fif- 
teen hundred 3'ears before Christ's time : And farther, That 

the Jews, before and at the time of Christ, had books among 
them bearing the titles of those, which make up what we pro- 

testants call the canonical books of the Old Testament : 

And that these books, then received in the Jewish church, were 
the genuine works of the persons to whom they were respective- 
ly ascribed : From hence it is easy farther to shew, that they 

have not sulTered, and, considering what a guard the Jews and 
Christians were upon each other, could not suffer, any material 
alteration since ; and consequently, that the Old Testament, as 
now extant in the Hebrew and Chaldee languages, is genuine, 
?ind, in the main, such as it originally was. 

In order to prove its credibility from this established me- 
dium, we may prepare the way, by shewing, that many material 
facts, which are there recorded, are also mentioned by very an- 
cient heathen writers. And it is yet more im])ortant to shew, 

as Ave very easily may, that there is room to go over the same 
leading thoughts with those insisted upon in the second of the 
three sermons mentioned above, and to argue the credibility of 
the story, from the certain opportunities, wliich the writers had 
of informing themselves as to the certain truth of the grand facts 


which they assert, as having themselves been personally con- 
cerned in them ; and from those many marks of integrity and 
piety to be found in their writings, which may do as much as 
any thing of that kind can do, to obviate any suspicion of an 

intention to deceive. We may here also advance farther, and 

demonstrate beyond all contradiction, that the facts asserted 
were of such a nature, as could not possibly have gained credit, 
had they been false ; yet that they did gain most assured credit, 
of which the persons receiving these books gave the most sub- 
stantial evidence that can be imagined, by receiving, on the 
authority of these facts, a system of laws, which though consi- 
dered as to be divinely supported, they were admirably wise, 
yet were of such a nature, that without such an extraordinary 
Providence, as nothing but an assurance of such an original 
could have warranted them to expect, they must necessarily 
have proved ruinous to the state tliey were intended to regulate 
and establish *, 

A farther and very noble evidence of the truth of the grand 
facts attested in the Old Testament, and of the insp'ration of a 
considerable part of it, may be drawn from the consideration of 
those numerous and various predictions to be found in it ; which 
refer to a multitude of events, several of them before utterly un- 
exampled, which no human sagacity could possibly have fore- 
seen, and which nevertheless happened exactly according to 
those predictions f , 

Having advanced thus far, we may take up a set of argu- 
ments correspondent to those insisted on above, to prove from 
its genuineness and credibility, now supposed to be evinced, 
that the Old Testament was written by a superintendent in- 
spiration : And this Ave may argue, not merely, or chiefly, from 
the tradition to this purpose, so generally and so early prevail- 
ing in the Jev/ish church, though that is considerable; nor even 
from those very signal and glorious internal evidences of various 
kinds, which every competent judge may easily see and feel ; 
but from surveying the character and circumstances of the per- 
sons, by whom the several books were written, in comparison 
with the genius of that dispensation, under which they lived and 
wrote. This may, in all the branches of the argument, be proved 

*The reader will easily imagine, I here refer especially to the laws, relating to 
letting all the land lie fallow together once in seven j^ears, and two years together at 
every jubilee ; the desertion of their borders at the three great feasts, when all the 
males went up to the tabernacle or temple j and the disuse of cavalry; to omit 
some others. 

f See Dr. Sykes's Connection. 


Inspiration of the old testament. 197 

in this way, with the greatest ease and strength, concerning 
Moses, and his writings : And when the authority of the penta- 
teuch is estabHshed, that of the most material succeeding books 
stands in so easy and natural a connection with it, that I think 
few have been found, at least, since the controversy between the 
Jews and the Samaritans, who have, in good earnest, allowed 
Moses to have been a messenger from heaven, and denied the in- 
spiration of the prophets, and of the books which we receive as 
written by them. 

But it is obvious, that the illustration of all these proposi- 
tions would be the work of a larore volume, rather than of such a 
postscript to a dissertation, itself of so moderate a length. I 
have discussed them all with the most material objections which 
have been advanced against them, in that course of theological 
lectures, which I mentioned in the preface to the first volume 
of the Family Expositor; and which it is my continual care to 
render worthy the acceptance of the public in due time, by such 
alterations and additions as frequent reviews, in conjunction with 
what occurs to me in reading, conversation, or meditation, may 

I shall conclude these hints with the mention of one argu- 
ment for the inspiration of the Old Testament, entirely inde- 
pendent on all the former ; which a few words may set in a con- 
vincing Hght, and which must be satisfactory to all, who see the 
reasonableness of acquiescing in what I have urged above. I 
mean, That the inspiration, and consequently, the genuine- 
ness and credibility of the Old Testament, may be certainly 
inferred from that of the New*: Because our Lord and his 

* It may be objected to this, that the authority of the New Testament, as 
stated in the sermons referred to, and in most other defences of Christianity, is, in 
part, proved from the prophecies of the Old; so that the argument here urged would 
be circular. To which I would answer, 1. That if we were to take this medium 
alone, we must, indeed, subtract from the proof of Christianity all that branch of its 
evidence, which grows from prophecies in the Old Testament; and then, all that arises 
from miracles, internal arguments, and the wonderful events, which have followed its 
first promulgation, would stand in their full force, first to demonstrate, I think, to 
high satisfaction, the divine original of the New Testament, and then to prove the 
authority of the Old. 2. That most of the enemies of the Mosaic and Christian re- 
velations do nevertheless own those, which we call the prophetical books of the Old 
Testament to be more ancient than the New : And on tliis foundation alone, without 
first taking for granted, that they are either inspired or genuine, we derive an argu- 
ment for Christianity, from their mere existence ; and then may argue backward, 
that they were divinely inspired, anil therefore genuine ; and so, by a farther conse- 
quence, may infer from them the divine authority of the Mosaic religion, which thev 
so evidently attest: Which is an argument something distinct from the testimony of 
the authors of the New Testament, but important enough to deserve a mention. 

VOL. 1V» B b 


apostles were so far from charging the scribes and pharisees, 
ivho on all proper occasions are censured so freely, with having 
introduced into the sacred volume any merely human composi- 
tions; that, on the contrary, they not only recommend a dili- 
gent and constant perusal of these scriptures, as of the greatest 
importance to men's eternal happiness ; but speak of them as 
divine oracles, and as written by the extraordinary influence of 
the holy Spirit upon the minds of the authors. 

I desire, that the following list of scriptures may be atten- 
tivel}' consulted, and reflected on. in this view. I might have 
added a great many more, indeed, several hundreds, in which 
the sacred writers of the New Testament argue from those of 
the Old, in such a manner, as nothing could have justified, but 
a firm persuasion that they were divinely inspired. Now as the 
Jews always allowed, " that the testimony of an approved pro- 
phet was sufficient to confirm the mission of one, who was sup- 
ported by it ;" so I think every reasonable man will readily con- 
clude, that no inspired person can erroneously attest another to 
be inspired : And, indeed, the very definition of plenary inspira- 
tion, as stated above, absolutely excludes any room for cavilhng 
on so plain a head. I throw the particular passages, which I 
chuse to mention, into the margin below * ; and he must be a 
very indolent enquirer into a question of so much importance, 
who does not think it worth his while to turn carefully to them, 
imless he has already such a conviction of the argument, that it 
should need no farther to be illustrated or confirmed. 

* John V. 59. Mat. iv. 4, 7, 10. Mark xii. '24. Luke x. 26, 27. Mat. v. 
J 17, 18. xxi. 42. xxii. 29,31,43. xxiv. 15. xxvi. 54, 56. Luke i. 67, 69, 70. xvi. 
.31. xxiv. 25, 27. John x. 35. Acts ii. 16, 25. iii. 22, 24. iv, 25. xvii. 11. xviii. 
'24,28. xxviii. 25. Rom. iii. 2, 10. ix. 25, 27, 29. x. 5, 11, 16. xv. 4. xvi. 26. 
ICor. X. 11. 2 Cor. iv. 13. vi. 16, 17. Gal. iii. 8. 1 Tim. v. 18. 2 Tim. iii. 15, 
16. Heb, i. 1, 5—13. iii.7.Jam. ii. 8.iv. 5,6. 1 Pet. i. 10—12. 2 Pet. i. 19—21. 











Rb i> 

TO « 








OU will probably be surprised at this address on occasion 
of your enquiry, so many months after the publication of it. 
But my distance from the town, and engagement in business 
hindered me from an early sight of it ; and many accidents, 
which it is of no importance to mention, obliged me to delay 
finishing these papers, so soon as I intended, when I began to 
write them. On the whole, as I am not attempting to criticise 
on your performance, but only to ofier some remarks, which I 
hope may be of common use, if what I say be just and important, 
it cannot be quite too late ; and if it be either false or trifling, 
it appears, after all, too soon. 

As I am persuaded, that the dissenting cause is founded on 
reason and truth, and that the honour of God, and the public 
good is nearly concerned in its support, you have my hearty- 
thanks for that generous zeal, with which you have appeared 
for the defence of it. On this account, I should think myself 
highly obliged to treat you with decenc}^ and respect, how much 
soever my sentiments might differ from yours, as to the particu- 
lar causes of its decay. And indeed. Sir, you have taken the 
most effectual method in the world to prevent any thing of a 
rude attack, by treating all, whom you mention, even the 
meanest and the Aveakest, with remarkable candor and hu- 

But I have the happiness of agreeing with you in far the 
greater part of what you advance. I will not now debate, whe- 
ther the principles of our dissent are less known, than they for- 
merly were ; and consequently whether that be, properly speak- 
ing, a cause of the late decay of our interest : But I will readily 



jrrant, Sir, that it is highly necessary, they should be known ; 
and I think you have done us a great deal of service by setting 
them in so easy, and yet in so strong a light, I hope it may 
be a means of informing and establishing some, who ire too busy 
or too indolent to give themselves the trouble of perusmg, what 
Dr. Calamy, Mr. Peirce, and some others have written so copi- 
ously and so judiciously upon the subject. 

I farther apprehend, Sir, that nothing can be said upon the 
case before us, of more certain truth or more solid importance, 
than, what you have frequently observed, viz. that our interest 
has received great damage from our acting in a manner directly 
"opposite to our principles, by unscriptural impositions, and un- 
charitable contentions with each other. I hope, inany of us 
have seen our mistakes here, and shall be careful for the future, 
to avoid, what has been attended with so many unhappy conse- 

After having thus declared my agreement with you in the 
greater part of your discourse, I hope, Sir, you will pardon me, 
if I add, that 1 cannot think that you have exhausted your sub- 
ject. To speak freely, I think you have omitted some causes 
of the decay of our interest, which are at least, as important as 
those you have handled. It is the design of my present under- 
taking, to point out some of the most considerable of them, 
which have occurred to my thoughts : And I persuade myself. 
Sir, you will be no more offended with me for offering this sup- 
plement to your inquiry, than I imagine, I should myself be 
Avith any third person, who should fix upon others, which may 
have escaped us both. 

You will the more readily excuse the freedom, which I take, , 
as I imagine, that the scenes of our lives have been widely dif-* 
ferent *, and consequently I may have had an opportunity of 
making some useful observations which have not fallen in your 
way : Though I question not, but if you, Sir, had been in my 
circumstances, you would soon have remarked them : and per- 
haps have communicated them to the public with much greater 

I shall add nothing more by way of introduction, but that I 
chuse the title, I have prefixed to these papers, rather than that 
of a farther enquiry into the causes of the decay of the dissent- 

* As the author, to whom I write, is not certainly known, I take It for granted, 
he is, what he .seems by his manner of writing, a gentleman of the laity ; And thoudi 
I have been told, since I drew np this letter, he is supi^osed by many to be a young 
minister in town, I have no evidence of it, which is convincing to me : And as 1 ap- 
prehend it would be ill manners to appear to know him under such a disguise, 1 
thought it not proper to alter what I had writ with regard to the late report. 


ing interest ; partly, Sir, as it seemed most respectful to you, 
but principally, that I may not appear to advance any direct 
charge against any of my brethren in the process of this dis- 
course. I am sensible that would be highly indecent on tnany 
accoimts, and particularly, as it is from the example of several 
amongst them, whom I have most intimately known, that I have 
learnt many of those particulars of conduct, which I am now 
going to offer to your consideration, as the happiest expedients 
for the revival of our common cause. 

But before I proceed to particulars, I would observe, what 
we immediately allow, but too cjuickly forget, that we are to be 
concerned for this interest, not merely as the cause of a distinct 
party, but of truth, honour, and liberty ; and I will add, in a 
great measure, the cause of serious piety too. I would be far 
from confining all true religion to the members of our own con- 
gregations. I am very well aware, that there are a multitude of 
excellent jiersons in the establishment, both among the clergy 
and the laity, who are, in their different stations, burning and 
shining lights ; such as reflect a glory on the himian nature, 
and the christian profession. Yet I apprehend, some of these 
are the persons who will most readily allow, that, in proportion 
to the numbers, there is generally more practical religion to be 
found in our assemblies, than in theirs. This was surely the 
original, and this, if I mistake not, must be the support of our 
cause. It was not merely a generous sense of liberty, which may 
warm the breast of a deist or an atheist, but a religious reve- 
rence for the divine authority, which animated our pious forefa- 
thers, to so resolute and so expensive an opposition to the at- 
tempts, which were made in their day, to invade the rights of 
conscience, and the throne of God its only Sovereign. And if 
the cause be not still maintained on the same principles, I think 
it will hardly be wortb our while to be much concerned about 
maintaining it at all. It must argue a great defect, or partiality 
of thought, for any with the Jews of old to boast of their being 
free from liuman impositions, when they are The servants of 
sin'^. And all the world will evidently perceive, that it is the 
temper of a Pharisee, rather than of a Christian, to contend 
about Mint, anise and cummin, on one side of the question or 
the other, while there is an apparent indifference about The 
weightier matters of the law f. We that are ministers, may en- 
tertain ourselves and our hearers with fine harangues in defence 
of liberty ; But I apprehend, that in the near views of death and 
eternity, we shall have little satisfaction in reflecting on the con- 

* John viii. 33, 34. j- Mat. xxiii. 23. 


verts, we have made to that, unless at the same time, -we have 
some reason to hope, that they are persons of true substantial 
piety; such as will be our crown in the day of the Lord, and 
our companions in the glories of the heavenly world. I cannot 
say, how trifling and contemptible our labours appear to me, 
when considered in any other view. And therefore, Sir, it will 
be my concern throughout this whole discourse, to point out 
those methods for the support of the dissenting interest, which, 
I imagine, will be most subservient to the cause of practical re- 
ligion, and vital holiness in all its branches. 

It was the observation of Dr. Burnet, almost forty years 
ago, in his incomparable discourse on the pastoral care *, 
*' That the dissenters had then in a great measure lost that 
good character for strictness in religion, Avhich had gained them 
their credit, and made such numbers fall off to them." Whe- 
ther that good character has since been recovered, or has not 
been more and more declining, some others are more capable 
of judging ; but I think it calls for our serious reflection. And 
if we find upon enquiry, that this our glory is departing, it 
surely deserves to be mentioned, as one cause, at least, of the 
decay of our interest : And that all, who sincerely wish well to 
it, should express their affection, by exerting themselves with 
the utmost zeal for the revival of practical religion amongst us. 

This must be our common care, according to the various 
stations, in which providence has placed us : And as for minis- 
ters, nothing can be more evident, than that they, by virtue 
of their office, are under peculiar obligations to it. And, in 
order to pursue it with the greater advantage, I cannot but 
think that it should be their concern, to study the character and 
temper of their people ; that, so far as they can do it with con- 
science and honour, they may render themselves agreeable to 
them, both in their public ministrations, and their private 

This, Sir, is so obvious a thought, that one would ima- 
gine, it could not be overlooked or disputed ; yet it is certain, 
our interest has received considerable damage for want of a 
becoming regard to it, especially in those, who have been 
setting out in the ministry amongst us. It was therefore, sir, 
with great surprise, that I found you had entirely omitted it in 
your late enquiry, and had dropt some hints, which, though to 
be sure, you did not intend it, may very probably lead young 
preachers into a difl'erent and contrary way of thinking, than 

* Cap. viii. p. 'J04. 


which hardly any thing can be more prejudicial, either tothem, 
or to the cause, in which they are embarked. 

The passage of yours, to which I principally refer, is in 
the 33d and 34th pages of your enquiry. Where, amongst 
other things, you observe, that " a great many of those things 
that please the people, have often a very bad tendency in 
general." And you add, " the being pleased, which they so 
much insist upon, seldom arises from any tiling, but some odd- 
ncss that hits their peculiar humour, and is not from any view 
to edification at all, and tlierefore too mean to be worthy 
any one's study. The people do not usually know, wherein 
oratory, strength of speech, the art of persuasion, &c. consist ; 
and therefore it is vanity in such to pretend to be judges of 
them. I wish I could deny, that amongst us, they generally 
fall into the falsest and lowest taste imaginable." 

There is, no doubt, Sir, a mixture of truth and good sense 
in some of these remarks ; but for want of being sufficiently 
guarded, they seem liable to the most fatal abuse. I frankly 
confess, that when I began to preach, I should have read such 
a passage with transport, and should very briskly have con- 
cluded from it, as many of us are I'eady enough to conclude 
without it, that, with regard to our public discourses, we had 
nothing to do, but to take care that our reasoning were conclu- 
sive, our method natural, our language elegant, and our deli- 
very decent ; and after all this, if the people did not give us a 
favourable reception, the fault was to be charged on a perverse- 
ness of humour, which they should learn to sacrifice to good 
sense, and the taste of those, who were more judicious than 
themselves ; and in the mean time, were the proper object of 
contempt, rather than regard. 

I say not, Sir, that what I have now been quoting from your 
letter, would lay a just foundation for such a wild conclusion ; 
but I apprehend that a rash young man, ignorant of the world, 
and full of himself, might probably draAv such a conclusion from 
it. And if such a conclusion were to be universally received 
and acted upon, by the rising generation of ministers, it must, 
in a few years, be the destruction of our interest, unless the 
taste of our people should be miraculously changed. 

I am not so absurd and perverse as to assert*, that learn- 
ing and politeness will be the ruin of our cause, nor have I ever 
met with any, that maintained so extravagant an opinion. 

=lf Eijq. p. 36. 


But surely, Sir, a cause may be ruined by learned and polite 
men, if, with their other furniture, they have not religion and 
prudence too : And I hardly conceive how a minister, Avho is 
possessed of both these, can be unconcerned about the accep- 
tance he meets with from the populace, or can ever imagine, 
that the dissenting interest is generally to be supported in the 
contempt or neglect of them. 

I cannot believe, Sir, that a gentleman of your good sense 
intended to teach us such a contempt. Had religion, and 
the souls of men been entirely out of the question, and had you 
considered us only as persons, whose business it is to speak in 
public, you well know that such a thought had been directly 
contrary to the plainest principles of reason, and the rules of 
those amongst the ancients, as well as the moderns, who were 
tlie greatest masters in that profession. You will readily allow, 
what no thinking man can dispute, that a true, skilful, unpopu- 
lar orator- is a direct contradiction in terms. And I question 
not. Sir, but that you could, in a few hours, throw together 
whole pages of quotations, from Aristotle, Quintilian, Longinus, 
and especially from Tully, not to mention Rapin, Gisbert, 
Fenelon, and bishop Burnet, M'hich all speak the same language. 
You know that Tully in particular, declares, not only " That 
lie desired his own eloquence might be approved by the people,"* 
but that his friends might accommodate their discourse to 
them ; and tiierefore says to Brutus, " Speak to me and to the 
peoplef." And this he carries so far, as to say, " That what- 
. ever the people approve, must also be approved by the learned 
and judicious:!:;" and " That men of sense never differed from the 
populace in their judgment oforatory§." And that, "Tospeakin 
a manner not ada])ted to their capacity and the common sense 
of mankind, is the greatest fault an orator can commit j]." These 
were the sentiments of Tully on a subject peculiarly his own. 
And few that have ever heard of Longinus, are strangers to that 
celebrated passage, in which he makes it the test of the true 
sublime, that it strikes persons of all tastes ^nd educations, the 
meanest as well as the greatest %. 

* Elofiueiitiam sutem meam POPULO probari vclim. Cic. Orationes, qu^s 
nos multitudinis judicio probari volebamus; POPUIjARIS enim est ilia facultas, & 
effectus cloqiientitE est audientium adprobatio. Tusc. Disp. Lib. II. sub init. 
f Mihi cane & populo, mi Brute, dixerim. Ibid. J Quod probat multitude, hoc 
idem doctis probandum est. Ibid. § — Nunquam fuit populo cum doctis intel- 

ligentibusque dissensio. [| In dicendo, vitium vel maximiun est a vulgari geuere 
orationis atque a consuetudine communis sensus abhorrere. Cic. 

^ OXwj ^£ xaXa vojxi^e T4/w koh aXn^tva roc, ^la'Tavlo; a^ta-novTO. xc-i 
vcca-iv. K.l.h. Dion. cap. VI. ad fin. 


But indeed, as I hinted above, the necessity of an orator's 
accommodating himself to the taste of the people, depends not 
on the authority of the greatest writers, but on the apparent 
principles of reason, obvious to common sense: Since, without 
it, the ends of his undertaking cannot possibly be answered, 
as the people Avill neither be instructed nor persuaded by what 
he says. 

Again, if the matter were to be considered merely in a 
political view, and with regard to the support of our interest, as 
a separate body of men, I can imagine nothing more imprudent, 
in present circumstances at least, than a neglect of the populace, 
by which I mean all plain people of low education and vulgar 
taste, who are strangers to the refinements of learning and polite- 
ness: It is certain, they constitute, at least, nine parts in ten of 
most of our congregations, and are generally the supports of the 
meetings, they belong to, by their subscriptions, as well as their 
attendance. In boroughs, especiall}', several of them have a 
vote for members of parliament, and are so numerous, as to have 
it in their power frequently to turn the balance, by throwing 
themselves into one scale or the other. Now to s))eak plainly. 
Sir, I apprehend it is chiefly this, that makes us considerable to 
many, who have no regard at all to our religious principles. 
And to the bulk of mankmd there is something in the very idea 
of a large place, and a crowded auditory, Avhich strikes the 
thought, and secures a society from that contempt, which 
might, perhaps, fall upon persons of the most valuable charac- 
ters amongst them, if they stood alone as the support of the in- 
terest, and appeared in their assemblies but as an handful of 

Now, Sir, as this is the case, as numbers make our interest 
considerable, and those numbers are principally to be found 
amongst the common people, would you advise us mmisters to 
neglect the people ; or could you wish that any thing you have 
writ, should be interpreted as an encouragement of such a neg- 
lect? When we have lost our interest in them, as we must ne- 
cessarily do, if we take no care to preserve it, I would fain know 
what must become either of us or them. As for them, I imasfine, 
that many of them would grow indifferent to all religion, and 
seldom appear amongst us, or in any other places of divine wor- 
ship ; and others of a warmer and more resolute temper, would 
find out ways of making us uneasy; and if they could not get 
rid of us any other Avay, would draw off to neighbouring con- 
gregations, or form new societies, and chuse ministers agreeable 

Cc 2 


to their own taste, who might, perhaps, think it their prudence 
to maintain and inflame their resentments against those they had 
left. Tlius our common interest, as dissenters, would moulder 
and crumble away by our frequent divisions and animosities. 
And we, who by our contempt of the people, had been the oc- 
casion of them, shall have the great pleasure of being entertain- 
ed with the echo of our own voices, and the delicacy of our dis- 
courses, in empty places, or amidst a little circle of friends, till 
perhaps, like some of our brethren, we are starved into a good 
opinion of conformity : And in the mean time, shall have the 
public honour of ruining the cause, we undertook to support. 
For the generality of people, who never reason accurately, will 
readily conclude, it was ruined by us, if it sink under our care: 
Though you. Sir, will be so complaisant as to own, it fell by the 
obstinacy and perverseness of a people, " whose humour was 
too mean to be worthy anv one's study*." 

But perhaps, Sir, you will tell me, that we need not be ap- 
prehensive of being driven to such extremities ; for though some 
of the lou'cst of our auditors are lost, we shall gain over others 
to fill up their places, in a manner much more agreeable to our- 
selves, and more honourable to our cause in the eyes of the 
"world. " Many gentlemen have left us, because they were 
ashamed of our interest, and nothing can recover them, but the 
study of learning and politeness f." I assure you. Sir, I am an 
enemy to neither ; but heartily wish, they may both be cultivat- 
ed, so far as is consistent with our being acceptable to the people, 
and I apprehend, as you will afterwards perceive, the}^ are both 
in a very high degree consistent with it. But I imagine, it will 
never be worth our while, to neglect and displease the people, 
in order to bring over these gentlemen ; or to make other pro- 
selytes of their rank, character and taste. 

I shall, perhaps, surprise you when I say, that I am not 
much charmed with your proposal, allowing it ever so practi- 
cable, and the prospect of success ever so fair. You suppose, 
the gentlemen whom you describe, have not left us upon prin- 
ciples of conscience, on apprehension of our being schismatics, 
&.C. for then no alteration in the manner of our preaching could 
bring them back, but merely from a delicacy of taste, and be- 
cause they were ashamed to continue amongst so unpolished a 
people. You must then suppose, either that they acted in 
direct opposition to the dictates of conscience, or else, that they 
did not consult them at all in the affair, nor regarded any thing, 

*Enq. p. 34. fEnq. p. 32, 


more than fashion or amusement, in the choice of the religious 
assembhes, with which they have joined. The former supposi- 
tion charges them with an outrageous contempt both of truth 
and of honour ; and the latter, with a shameful mixture of pride 
and weakness, which has little of the gentleman, and less of the 
Christian. And I freely declare, that I think an honest me- 
chanic, or day-labourer, who attends the meeting from a religious 
principle, though perhaps it may expose him to some ridicule 
amongst his neighbours, and be in some measure detrimental to 
his temporal affairs, which is often the case, is a much more 
honourable and generous creature, and deserves much greater 
respect from a Christian minister, than such a gentleman, with 
all his estate, learning and politeness. 

In the sight of God, you will readily allow, that it is so ; 
but perhaps, Sir, you will tell me, that I am now considering 
the matter in a political view. It is time to recollect it, and I 
ask your pardon for this digression. 

I shall therefore speak more directly to the point when I 
answer, with all due submission, that I apprehend, this scheme 
of bringing back these gentlemen to our assemblies, is but wild 
and chimerical. 

If their conformity entirely depended on the delicacy of their 
taste, Ave could never expect to recover them, till we could en- 
tertain them with more polite and elegant discourses, than those, 
which they hear in the churclies they now frequent. Now, Sir, 
whatever your complaisance may suggest in our favour, 1 have 
not the vanity to believe, that, if we and the established clergy 
were to try our skill in the contest, we should generally exceed 
them. At least, I see no such certain evidence of our being 
superior to them here, as should encourage us to risk the whole 
of our cause upon this attempt; as I imagine we should do, if we 
were to neglect the people. 

And farther, I think there is the less reason for making so 
dangerous an experiment, as it is very apparent to me, that those 
who have left us, have not been influenced merely by such a 
critical exactness as you suppose. I know not any among them 
of a more judicious and refined taste, than some, Avho still con- 
tinue the ornaments and supports of our assemblies: And it is 
undeniably evident, that many who have quitted us, have acted 
on very different principles. Some have been influenced by 
secular views, in which they have not always been disappointed, 
and some by complaisance to their friends, and particularly 
those, who have married into families of a different persuasion, 
which has been a very fatal blow to our interest. Many more, 



I fear, have forsaken us from a secret dislike to strict piety, and ^ 
■vvith us, have abandoned all appearances of religion, and perhaps 
of common decency and morality. And I question not, Sir^ but 
you ver}^ well know, that many others, who have broken off from 
us, and perhaps, make the greatest pretences to strength of 
thought, and politeness of taste, are sunk as low as deism itself, 
if not yet lower, and may probably enough reckon it matter of 
boasting, that having thrown off one fetter, they have had grea- 
ter advantage for throwing off the other; i. e. the faith of the 
Christian, after the strictness of the dissenter. 

And are these, Sir, the persons who are to be brought back 
by our learning and address? Some of them may, perhaps now 
and then, make an occasional visit to our assemblies for their 
own amusement, as they frequent the theatre ; but surely they 
can never be depended upon as the support of an interest: Nor 
could you, on the whole, think it prudent for us to hazard the 
approbation and aflection of our people, in a view of making 
ourselves agreeable to them. 

But religion furnishes us with many considerations to the 
present purpose, of much greater importance than any, which 
could arise merely from prudential views. Surely there is a 
dignity and a glory m every rational and immortal soul, which 
must recommend it to the regard of the wise and the good, 
though it may be destitute of the ornaments of education, or 
splendid circumstances in life. Let us think of it in its lowest 
ebb of fortune, or even of character, as still the offspring and 
image of the great Father of Spirits, and as the purchase of re- 
deeming blood : Let us consider, Avhat an influence its temper 
and conduct may have, at least, on the happiness of some little 
circle of human creatures, with Avhom Providence has linked it 
in kindred, in friendship, or in interest; and especially, let us 
consider, what it may become in the gradual brightenings and 
improvements of the eternal state : Let us but seriously dwell on 
such reflections as these, too obvious to be missed, yet too im- 
portant to be forgot, and we shall find a thousand arguments 
concurring to inspire us Avith a sort of paternal tenderness for 
the souls of the meanest of our people. This will teach us to 
bear with their prejudices, to accommodate ourselves to their 
"weakness ; and to consider it as a mixture of impiety and cruelty, 
to neglect numbers of them, out of complaisance to the taste 
of a feWf who are, perhaps, some of them but occasional visi- 
tants, and whom we judge by their habits, rather than by any 
personal acquaintance, to be a part of the polite world. 

Did I affect to throw together all, that might be said on this 


subject, I might botli illustrate and confirm what I have already 
written, by shewing at large, that Christianit}^ is a religion ori- 
ginally calculated for the plainer part of mankind, by that God, 
who has Chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, 
and the weak things of the world to confound the things, which 
are mighty * ; and consequently, that a neglect and contempt of 
the common people is far from being the spirit of the gospel. 
I might add many remarks, to this purpose, on the preaching 
and conduct of St. Paul, and fill whole pages Avith quotations 
from him and the rest of the apostles, and many more from some 
of the most ancient and celebrated fathers of the church. But 
I do not think it necessary for the support of my argument, and 
I am persuaded that you. Sir, in particular, have no need of be- 
ing taught these things from me. 

Permit me only to add, what you must frequently have ob- 
served, that our Lord Jesus Christ is a most amiable and won- 
derful example of a plain, familiar, and popular preacher. 
When Ave come to peruse those divine discourses, which extort- 
ed a confession from his very enemies, that he spake as never 
man spake, we find neither a long train of abstract reasonings, 
nor a succession of laboured periods, adorned with an artificial 
exactness ; but the most solid and important sense, delivered in 
an easy and natural way, illustrated by similies taken from the 
most common objects in life, and enforced with lively figures, 
and the strongest energy of expression ; which is well consistent 
with all the former. So that, upon the whole, it was most hap- 
pily calculated, at once to instruct the most ignorant, and to 
awaken the most negligent hearer. I cannot but wish, that some 
judicious writer would attempt to set this part of our Lord's 
character in a clearer and a more particular light; and would 
shew us, how the Avhole of his conduct, as Avell as the manner 
of his address, Avas calculated to promote his usefulness under 
the character of a preacher of righteousness. I hope such an 
essay might be A^ery serviceable to those of us, who have the 
honour to succeed him in that part of his work ; and I persuade 
myself that it Avould furnish us Avith a A^ariety of beautiful re- 
marks on many passages in the CA'angelical historians, which are 
not to be found in the most celebrated commentators. 

You will excuse me. Sir, for having insisted so largelv on 
the necessity of endeavouring to render ourselves agreeable to 
our people ; because I am fully persuaded, that it is of great 
importance to th(j support and revival of the? dissenting interest. 

* 1 Cor. i. 27. 


I hope you already apprehend, that I intend nothing in this ad- 
vice, which is below the pursuit of the most elevated genius, or 
the most generous temper ; nothing inconsistent with the polite- 
ness of the gentleman and the scholar, or the dignity of the 
Christian and the minister. You cannot imagine, that I would 
recommend a popularity raised by quirks and jingles, or found- 
ed on affected tones, or ridiculous grimaces; and, much less on 
an attempt to inflame the passions of mankind about trifling con- 
troversies, and the peculiar unscriptural paraphrases of a party. 
Such a popularity as this, is almost the only thing that is more 
despicable, than the insolent pride of despising the people. 

If any of my younger brethren were to enquire, how an- 
other popularity, of a far more honourable kind, is to be pur- 
sued and secured, 1 answer, that their own converse and obser- 
vation on the world must furnish them with the most valuable 
instructions on this head. And though some of their particular 
remarks may differ, according to the various places and circum- 
stances, in which they are made ; 3-et I apprehend there are 
many things of considerable importance, in which they will all 
agree. As for instance : 

They wall quickly see, that the generality of the dissenters, 
who appear to be persons of serious piety, have been deeply im- 
pressed with the peculiarities of the gospel scheme. They have 
felt the divine energy of those important doctrines, to awaken, 
and revive, and enlarge the soul ; and therefore, they will have 
a peculiar relish for discourses upon them. So that, if a man 
should generally confine himself to subjects of natural religion, 
and moral virtue, and seldom fix on the doctrines of Christ, and 
the Spirit; and then, perhaps, treat them with sudi caution, that 
he might seem rather to be making concessions to an adversary, 
than giving vent to the fulness of his heart on its darling sub- 
ject ; he would soon find, that all the penetration and eloquence 
of an angel could not make him universally agreeable to our 

Many of our people have passed through a variety of exer- 
cises in their minds, relating to the great concern of eternal sal- 
vation. And they apprehend, that the scripture teaches us to 
ascribe this combat to the agency of Satan, and the corruptions 
of our own heart on the one hand, and the operations of the 
holy Spirit of God on the other. It is therefore, very agreeable 
to them, to hear these experimental subjects handled with 
seriousness and tenderness. It raises their veneration for such 
a minister, as for one, who has himself tasted of the grace of God, 
and encourages their confidence in him, and their expectations 


"Of improving by his labours. On the other hand, it grieves 
them, Avhen these subjects arc tnuch neglected, and gives them 
the most formidable suspicions, if one word be dropt, which 
seems to pour contempt upon them, as if they were ail fancy 
and enthusiasm; with which, it must be granted, they are some- 
times mixed. 

The greater part of most dissenting congregations consist- 
ing, as we before observed, of plain people, who have not enjoys 
ed the advantages of a learned education, nor had leisure for im- 
provements by after-study, it is apparently necessary, that a 
man should speak plainly to them, if he desire they should 
understand and approve what he says. And as for those, that 
are truly religious* they attend on public worship, not, that 
they may be amused with a form or sound, nor entertained 
with some new and curious speculation ; but, that their hearts 
may be enlarged as in the presence of God, that they may 
be powerfully affefcted with those great things of religion, 
which they already know and believe, that so their conduct may 
be suitably influenced by them. And to this purpose they de- 
sire that their ministers may speak as if they were in earnest, 
in a hvely and pathetic, as well as a clear and intelligible 

Such is the taste of the gcinel-ality of the dissenters ; a taste, 
which I apprehend they will still retain, whatever attempts may 
be made to alter it. And I must take the Uberty to say, that I 
conceive this turn of thought in the people to be the great sup- 
port of our interest, and not the httle scruples, which you hint 
at in the 3 Ith page of your letter, nor even those rational and 
generous principles of liberty, which you sd clearly propose, 
and so strenuously assert. And I cannot but believe, that if the 
established clergy, and the dissenting ministers in general, were 
mutually to exchange their strain of preaching, and their man- 
ner of living, but for one year, it would be the ruin of our 
cause, even though there should be no alteration in the constitu- 
tion and discipline of the church of England. However you 
might fare at London, or in some very singular cases elsewhere, 
1 can hardly imagine, that there would be dissenters enough left 
in some considerable counties, to (ill one of our largest meet- 
ing places. 

We have then advanced thus far ; that he who would be 
generally agreeable to dissenters, must be an evangelical, an 
experimental, a plain and an atfectionate preacher. Now I must 
do our common people the justice to own, that when these 
points are secured, they are not very delicate in their demands, 

VUL. IV. D d 


with regard to the forms of a discourse. They will not, in such 
a case, be very much disgusted, tliongh there be no regular 
chain of reasoning, no remarkable propriety of thought or of 
expression, no elegance of language, and bnt little decency of 
address. The want of all these is forgiven, to what they appre- 
hend of much greater importance. Yet, Sir, I would not from 
hence infer, that these things are to be neglected ; on the con- 
trary, I apprehend it is absolutely necessary, that they should be 
diligently attended to, in order to obtain that universal popu- 
larity, which I think so desirable for the sake of more extensive 
usefulness. A man of a good taste will certainly take some 
tare about them. It is what he owes to himself, and to the po- 
liter part of his audience, whom he will never be willing to lose 
in the crowd : And he need not fear, that a prudent regard to 
them will spoil his acceptance with the people. Few of them 
like a discourse the worse for being thoroughly good ; and the 
accomplished orator will find, perhaps to his surprise, that they 
will not only know and feel the important truths of religion in 
the most agreeable dress he can give them, but that they will 
even applaud the order and regularity of his composures, the 
beaut}' of his language, and the gracefulness of his delivery, at 
the same time that they have the candour not to complain of the 
indigested rovings, the unnatural transports, and the aukward 
distortions of the pious, well-meaning, but injudicious preacher^ 
For human nature is so formed, that some manners of thinkings 
and speaking are universally agreeable and delightful. It is the 
perfection of eloquence to be master of these, and should, I 
tljink, be the care of every one, that speaks in public, to pursue 
them as far as genius and opportunity will allow *. 

The man who forms himself upon such views as these, if he 
be not remarkably deficient in natural capacities, will probably 
be])opular amongst the dissenters, as a preacher : But a thinking 
man will easily perceive, this is not the only character, under 
which a minister is considered. His people will naturally and 
reasonably expect a conduct answerable to his public discourses ; 
and without it, he cannot be thoroughly agreeable to them. 
Tiiey will take it for granted, that a man so well acquainted 
with divine truths, and one, that seems to be so deeply^ affected 
M'ith them, should be regular and exemplary in the whole of his 
behaviour, and free from the taint of vice, or of folly, in any re- 
markable degree. They will expect, that he should be far from 
being a slave to secular interest, or to the little trifles of food, 

*■ This- is tliah regard to the Sensus Communis, which Tully thinks so necessary. 


dress, or domestic accommodation ; and that he should avoid 
every thing haughty and overbearing, or peevisi) and fretful in 
his dail}'' converse. Thev will conclude, that a desire of doing 
good to souls, will make him easy of access to those, who apply 
to liim for advice, with regard to their spiritual concernments ; 
and that it will likewise dispose him at proper times to visit all 
the people of his charge, the poor as well as the rich ; and that 
not only under the character of a friend, but of a minister, in a di- 
rect view to their spiritual editication. And if a man desire the 
affections of his people, he must not disappoint such expecta- 
tions as these. 

The tenderness, with which parents interest themselves in 
the concerns of their children, and the earnest desire, that all 
rehgious parents must necessarily have, that theirs may be a 
seed to serve the Lord, will engage them very kindly to accept 
our care, in attempting to bring them under early impressions 
of serious piety. Catechising has therefore been generally found 
a very popular, as well as a very useful practice. And here I 
think it is much to be wished, that our labour may extend to 
the youth, as well as to little children ; that in a familiar way 
they may be methodically acquainted with the principles of na- 
tural religion, and then with the evidences of the truth of Chris- 
tianity, and with the nature of it, as it is exhibited in the New 
Testament ; both with regard to the privileges and the duties of 
Christians. As this might be a means of filling our churches 
with a considerable number of rational, catholic, and pious 
communicants, from whom considerable usefulness might in 
time be expected, so it would greatly oblige their religious pa- 
rents, and lay a foundation for a growing friendship between us, 
and our catechumens, in the advance of life. 

I once thought to have insisted more largely on these hints, 
but am happily prevented by the publication of Mr. Some's 
sermon, on the methods to be taken by ministers for the revival 
of religion. He has fully spoken my sentiments, with regard 
to many of those articles, on which 1 have only glanced. I 
persuade myself, Sir, you will read it Avith a great deal of plea- 
sure ; for, so far as 1 can judge, this sermon is almost as agree- 
able an example of that preaching, as his life is of that conduct, 
which he recommends. I am confident that a man of your good 
.sense must necessarily approve the scheme, which I have briefly 
laid down, and which is there largely considered and recom- 
mended. Were you to chuse a pastor for yourself, I doubt 
not, but you would rejoice in such a one ; and you Avould pro- 



bably have the hearty concurrence of the weakest and most illi-o 
terate of your pious neighbours. My younger brethren, for 
whom alone I am now presuming to write, can have no reason 
to complain, that I have assigned them either a mean, or a se- 
vere task. I heartily desire to be their companion in all the 
most laborious, and self-denying parts of it ; and I persuade 
myself, that we shall find it, on the whole, as delightful as ho- 
nourable, and as advantageous to ourselves, as it will be ser- 
viceable to the public interest. 

There seems to be but one material objection against all 
tliis ; and it is an objection, in which, I doubt not, but your 
own thoughts have already prevented me. It may perhaps be 
pleaded, that we have a sort of people amongst us, whose ap- 
probation and esteem cannot be obtained by such honourable 
methods, as I proposed. For they, whom we call the rigidly 
orthodox, are so devoted to a pecuhar set of human phrases, 
vhich have been introduced into the explication of some im- 
portant doctrines, that they Avill hardly entertain a favourable 
thought of an}^ who scruple the use of them, or who do not 
seem to value them as highly as they, though they ma}'^, on aU 
other accounts be ever so considerable. 

You, Sir, hint at* a very expeditious remedy for uneasi- 
ness arising from this quarter ; that persons of generous and 
bigoted sentiments, should meet in different places. In Lon- 
don it is certainly practicable, and may perhaps be most expe- 
dient ; but to attempt any such separation in the country, 
would be the utter ruin of many of our societies, which now 
make some considerable appearance. But besides my re- 
gard to the ministers and societies, to which they are related, 
I must confess, I have too much tenderness for the persons 
themselves, to be willing entirely to give them up. I have been 
intimately acquainted with those who have been accused, and 
perhaps rwt unjustly, of this unhappy attachment to human 
phrases, and nicety in controversial points; and I must do many 
of them the justice to own, that 1 have found very excellent 
qualities mingled with this excess of zeal, which must, methinks, 
appear pardonable in them, when we consider how artificially 
it has been infused ; and how innocently they have received 
and retained it, from a real principle of conscience to God. 
But, indulging them in this one article, several of them will ap- 
pear to be persons of so much humility and piety, of so much 
integrity and generosity, of so much activity and zeal for the 

• Page 44. 


common interest, that, separate from all views to private acU 
vantapje or reputation, one would heartily wish to do all he 
honestly can, to remove those prejudices, which give them so 
much uneasiness, and impair the lustre of so many virtues and 
graces. And if at the same time we can secure their esteem 
and friendship, it may have such an influence, both on our own 
comfort and usefulness in life, that it must be great ignorance 
or pride to despise it. 

You will readily grant, Sir, that the thing is in itself desir- 
able : The great question is, how it may be effected ? And here 
I will venture to say freely, that I apprehend bigotry of all 
kinds, to be a fortress, which may be attacked by sap, more 
successfully than by storm. It is evident that wc have most of 
us something of the humour of children, that grasp a thing so 
much the more eagerly, when an attempt is made to wrest it out 
of their hands by violence ; and yet perliaps will drop it them- 
selves in a few minutes, if you can but divert their attention to 
something else. 

From such a view of things, I apprehend, we are to judge 
of the most proper methods of dealing with those, whose case 
is now under consideration. You Sir, may tell them again, 
and again, with your natural coolness and moderation, * '* That 
it would be an instance of their modesty to resign their plea- 
sures to the general notions and judgment that instead of 

assuming the characters of judges and censors, they should put 

on the humble temper of learners and receive the truth 

without being jealous of heresy in our younger preachers. 

And at the same time, that you are thus giving 3'our advice 
you may give your reasons as clearly and handsomely, as you 
have given them for nonconformity in this enquiry ; yet after 
all, you will probably find, that the civium ardor prava juben- 
tium will out-noise the voice of the charmer, charming ever so 
wisely. And should I exert myself with greater warmth and 
eagerness, should I grow a bigot in defence of Catholicism, and 
load those of different sentiments with reproaches, because they 
have profited no better by so many solid arguments ; I should 
indeed pay a very great compliment to them, in supposing 
them capable of knowing, and admitting truth, under so disa- 
greeable a disguise ; but it would be at theexpence of my own 
character and ease, and I should run the risk of being severely 
scorched by that flame, which I pretended to extinguish by 
pouring on oil. 

I cannot but think it much more adviseable, according to 

* Enquiry, page 34, 37.' 


the apostle's maxim of becoming all things to all men, to study 
to accommodate ourselves in this respect, as well as in others, 
to the intirmities of our hearers, as far as with a safe conscience 
tve may. If we can put a tolerably good sense on any of their 
favourite phrases, it would surely be a most unreasonable stift'- 
ness and pervei'seness of temper, to avoid it mereh'' because they 
admire it. Or if we cannot go so far, we may at least lay aside 
any darling phrases of our own, which we know will be offen- 
sive to them. For if the bible be a complete rule, our human 
forms are no more necessary than tiieirs. Christians, as such, 
profess a reverence for the scripture, and many of these Chris- 
tians have a distinguishing regard to it, as they have felt its di- 
vine energy on their souls. Now, Sir, with submission to the 
better judgment of my brethren, I think, we, Avho are ministers, 
should take them by the handle, and should labour to discover 
to them, more and more, the beauty and fulness of the word of 
God, not only with regard to this or that particular doctrine, 
but to the whole system of truth and duty contained in it. It is 
a subject on which we might speak, and they would hear with 
pleasure ; and it would not only divert their attention, and 
their zeal from other things, which might give uneasiness, but 
Mould have a direct tendency to enlarge their views, and 
sweeten their tempers, beyond all our encomiums on liberty and 
Catholicism, or our satires on bigotry and imposition. 

I likewise apprehend, that a regard to what was said under 
the former heads, will farther conduce to this ha[)py end. 
When these exact people hear ns preaching in a truly spiritual 
and experimental strain, and at the same time, in such a rational 
and graceful manner, as may set our discourses above contempt, 
and make them agreeable to the 3-ounger and politer part of 
our auditory, as well as to others ; they will quickly see, that 
it is not for their own interest, or that of their children, to driv^e 
us away with a rigorous severit}-. And therefore, instead of 
studying to find us heretics, they will rather put the most fa- 
vourable sense on ambiguous expressions, and labour to believe 
us as orthodox as they can : Or, if they suspect us to be in the 
dark as to some particulars, yet they will charitably hope, that 
age and experience will perfect what is wanting ; and that God 
nill reveal it to us in his own time. With these views they will 
cheerfully commit themselves to our ministerial care, if Provi- 
dence seems to open a way for our settlement amongst them. 
And when they find, that they are handsomelv treated by us, 
tfiat no direct attack is made upon their darling notions ; but 
that the great concerns of practical religion, as dear to them as 
to any people upon earth, are plainly and faithfully pursued by 


^1s, both in public and private, to the refreshment of their own 
souls, and to the evident advantage of many others, they will 
contract a tender, growing affection for us : And thus their bi- 
gotry will gradually wear away, till perhaps they come at last 
joyfully to embrace those more generous notions, from which 
they would at first have started back with horror. 

Thus we may, after the example of our great Master, teach 
cur folloAvers, as they are able to bear it : And by this modera- 
tion, may be instrumental in healing the breaches, which we pro- 
fess to lament, in rescuing many an excellent soul from a pain- 
ful and dishonourable bondage ; and in spreading a generous, 
candid, christian spirit, which will be the glory and happiness 
of our interest in general, as well as of the particular societies 
under our care. And in the mean time, another generation will 
be rising, whom we may hope to form, in a manner agreeable to 
our own sentiments, who may transmit to remote ages, those 
united principles of piety and Catholicism, which they have 
happily learnt from us. 

I cannot but think, that such rational and noble prospects 
may encourage us to submit to some restraints, which we should 
not otherwise have chose. But if, after all, Ave inflexibly insist 
on *'* as unbounded a liberty of speaking our sentiments in 
public, as of forming them in private," or in the language of 
Solomon, of uttering all our mind, I think we shall dearly pur- 
chase the pleasure of hearing ourselves talk on a subject, on 
"which we can do little more, than echo back a part of what has 
been so copiously and judiciously written, and so frequently re- 
peated by others. The wiser part of mankind will look upon 
us as forward heirs, who spend our estate of reputation and im- 
portance in life, before we come to it ; and upon the whole, we 
shall not only exceedingly injure ourselves in private hfe, whichis 
comparatively but a trifle, but shall impair our future usefulness, 
and even wound the darling cause of liberty, to which we are 
so ready to sacrifice all. For I seriously declare, that if I could 
be so wncked as to form a design against it, and so base as to 
prosecute it by clandestine and hypocritical methods, I would 
only set myself to declaim in its favour, with imprudent zeal, 
and unbounded fur}-. 

You have now, Sir, all that I think it proper to say, at 
present, concerning the methods, by which I apprehend those of 
us, who are employed in the ministry, may most effectually 
contribute to the revival of the dissenting interest. I can 
assure you, they are not the reveries of my own closet, but 

♦ Page 37. 


observations which I have drawn from Hfe, as occasions havei 
occurred in conversing with a variety of persons of different 
stations, rehshes, and characters^ I have the better opinion of 
many of them^ as I know that they are thoroughly agreea- 
ble to the sentiments and conduct of some of the most consi- 
derable persons of all denominations amongst usj both in town 
and country ; whose friendsliip is the honour and pleasure of 
my life. I am particularly confirmed in this way of thinkings 
by observing the success, which such measures have had in 
tlie congregations of my fathers and brethren in these parts* 
For I know, that in many of them^, the number of dissenters 
is greatly increased within these twenty years ; and the inte- 
rest continues so to flourish, that I am confident some of our 
honest people, who converse only in their own neighbour- 
hood, will be surprised to hear of an enquiry into the causes 
of its decay. 

If what I have writ appear reasonable to you, Sir, I can- 
not but wish that you, and other gentlemen of the laity, 
who are heartily concerned for our interest, would endeavour 
to cultivate such sentiments as these in the minds of young 
ministers of your acquaintance. We are naturally very de- 
sirous of being known to you, and singled out as the ob- 
ject of your regard. Whereas we early begin to look with 
a comparative contempt upon the meaner sort of people, as 
an ignoble herd — Fruges consumere nati — Whilst engaged in 
our preparatory studies, we are indeed so generous, as to give 
up one another to the vulgar ; but we have, each of us, the pene- 
tration to discover, that there is something uncommon in our 
dear selves, by which nature seems to have intended us to be, 
as we absurdly enough express it, orators for the polite. These 
arrogant and pernicious sentiments we sometimes carry along 
with us, from the academy to the pulpit ; where perhaps, we 
make our first appearance infinitely solicitous about every tri- 
fling circumstance of a discourse, yet negligent of that which 
should be the soul of it. And if the people are not as much 
charmed with it as ourselves, we have then an evident demon- 
stration of their incorrigible stupidity ; and so resentment con- 
curs with pride and ambition, to set us at the remotest distance 
from those, who ought to be the objects of our tenderest re- 

If an elder minister have so much compassion and generosity, 
as to deal freely with us upon these heads, and give such advice 
as circumstances require, it is great odds but we find some ex» 

cuse for neglecting what he says '* He is ignorant and un- 

polite J or perhaps, intoxicated with his own j)opularity, and 


means his counsels to us as encomiums upon himself."- 

Or if neither of these will do, some other artifice must be found 
out, to fix the blame any -where rather than at home. And if 
in the midst of a thousand mortifications, we can but find out 
one gentleman of fortune, sense, and learning, that admires us, 
ve are happv. A single diamond is worth more than a whole 
load of pebbles; and we perhaps adapt, with vast satisfaction, 
the celebrated words of Arbuscula in Horace*, 

Men* moveat Cimex Pantilius, &c. 

Without considering that what was highly proper in the mouth 
of a player, and a poet, would be extremely absurd in a heathen, 
and much more in a Christian orator. 

Now, Sir, what I intend by all this, is, to shew that you 
gentlemen may have it in your power to do a great deal to cor- 
rect these mistaken notions. If we plainly see that you regard 
us, not merely according to the manner, in which our perform- 
ances are accommodated to your own private taste, but accord- 
ing to our desire and capacity of being useful to the public in- 
terest, we shall perhaps, be taught to place our point of honour 
right ; and when that is once done, a moderate degree of genius, 
application, and prudence, may be sufficient, by the blessing of 
God, to secure the rest. 

I would here, Sir, have ended my letter, but the hints you 
give in the conclusion of 5'ours concerning academical educa- 
tion, lead me to add a few words on that head. I would be far 
from the insolence of pretending to teach tutors; but I appre- 
hend that, if m}' former principles be allowed, it will follow, by 
the easiest consequence in the world, that it is a very important 
part 'of their business, to form their pupils to a regard for the 
people, and to a manner of preaching, and of converse, which 
may be agreeable to them. 

There is hardly any thing which should be more discourag- 
ed in a young student, than such a mistaken haughty way of 
t]iinking,as I so freely described a little above, especially Avhen 
it discovers itself in a petulant inclination to employ their talent 
at satire, in ridiculing the infirmities of plain serious Christians, 
or the labours of thiyse ministers, who are willing to condescend 
to the meanest capacities, that they may be wise to win souls, 

A young man of sense Avill easily enter into such plain rea- 
sonings as I have offered in the beginning of this letter, and be 
conviiifed by them, that if he ever appear under the character 
of a dissenting Uiinister, he must not neglect the people. But 

* Hor. Sat, Lib. I. v. v. 7S, &c. 

vol. IV »^ K e 


it is greatly to be desired, that onr students may be engaged to 
regard them, not merely from political, but religious views. 

It is therefore, no doubt, the care of every pious tutor 
amongst us, and may God make it a more constant and success- 
ful care, to possess his pupils, %vho are designed for the ministry, 
with a deep and early sense of the importance of the gospel 
scheme, for the recovery of man from the ruins of the apostacy, 

and his restoration to God, and happiness by a mediator. 

To shew, as it may easily be shewn, that this has been the great 
end of the divine counsels, with regard to which, the harmony of 
nature in the lower world has been supported, and the various 

economies of Pro\'idonce disposed : To point out the Son of 

God descending from heaven in favour of this design, pursuing 
it by humble condescensions to the lowest of the people, and un- 
wearied labours amongst them : and at last, establishing it by 

agonies and death: To shew them the apostles taking up 

their Master's cause, prosecuting it A>'ith unwearied vigour and 
resolution, and sacrificing to it their ease, their reputation, their 
liberty, and their lives: To trace out those generous emo- 
tions of soul, which still live and breathe in their nnmortal writ- 
ings: And then, when their minds are warmed with such a 

survey, to apply to the students themselves, as persons designed 
by Providence, to engage in the same work, to support and 
carr}' on the same interests, who therefore must be actuated by 
the same views, and imbibe the same spirit. 

Something of this kind is, I doubt not, attended to; and I 
must take the liberty to say, that I think these the most im- 
portant lectures a tutor can read. You cannot but see, Sir, that 
ibv the blessing of God, such addresses must have an apparent 
tendency to fill the mind with sublime and elevated views, and 
to make a man feel and own too, though it may appear somc- 
ihing unpolite, that the salvation of one soul is of infinitely 
greater importance, than charming a thousand splendid assem- 
bliesj with the most elegant discourses that were ever delivered. 
A young minister under these impressions, will come out to his 
public work naturally disposed to care for the state of his peo- 
ple ; and such sincere zeal and tenderness will form him to a 
popular address, abundantly sooner, and more happily, than the 
most judicious rules which it is possible to dictate. 

As examples are the best illustration of precepts, it must 
certainly be a great advantage to pupils to hear such preaching, 
•and see such pastoral care, as is recommended to them in the 
Jccture-room. A prudent man, who is concerned in the edu- 
cation of young ministers, will be particularly careful to avoid 
those faults in preaching, w'hich they are in the greatest danger 


of falling Into ; and particularly too abstracted a train of reason- 
ing, and too great a care about the little ornaments of speech, 
■when addressing to a common auditory. And if, -where other 
circumstances may allow it, be sometimes engage the attendance 
of senior pupils in his pastoral visits, and introduce them to the 
acquaintance and freedom of some serious Christians in tlie 
society, it may be much.for their improvement. A more inti- 
mate knowledge of their hidden worth, and perhaps, of those 
noble traces of natural genius, which they might discover 
amongst some of a very low education, would something in- 
crease their esteem for the populace in general. And from their 
observations on books and sermons, and their accounts of the 
various exercises of their minds, where our politer hearers are 
generally more reserved, a man ma}' best learn how they are to 
be addressed, and form himself to that experimental strain, on 
which so much of his acceptance and usefulness amongst us will 

If you apprehend. Sir, tbat such a course will make them 
preachers for the vulgar, and for them only ; I think it sufficient 
to answer, that I entirely agree with you in what you say of the 
great advantages of an intimate acquaintance with the learned 
languages, and the classical writers both of the Romans and 
Greeks. I heartily wish our students may always be well fur- 
nished with it, before they leave the schools, and think it highly 
proper it should be carried on through the whole of their aca- 
demical course. And I cannot imagine, that a man of tolerable 
sense, who is every day conversing with some of the finest wri- 
ters of antiquity , and who is, as most of our students are, a little 
exercised in the mathematical sciences, to teach him attention 
of thought, and strength, and perspicuity of reasoning, will be 
in great danger of saying any thing remarkably impertinent, or 
contemptibly low. 

As for being masters of our own language, it is a point which 
I think should be thoroughly laboured from the very beginning 
of their education. They should, to be sure, make themselves 
familiarly acquainted with those writers, which are allowed to be 
the standards of it, and should frequently be translating and com- 
posing. And if this be not only practised at school, but con- 
tinued through four or five years of academical education, they 
will have formed a habit of expressing themselves gracefully, 
or at least tolerably well : So that in their ordinary composures, 
when they have digested their materials, and ranged their 
thoughts, they will often find proper, exjircssive, and elegant 
words, flowing in faster than they can write them. 

Ee 2 


And as composition is far from being the only business of 
an orator ; so I heartily wish, that not only tutors, but school- 
masters, whose character and conduct, by the way, is of vast 
importance to our interest, would make a very serious business 
of teaching lads, who are designed for the ministr}^, to read well, 
and to pronounce properly and handsomely. Thus an early re- 
medy would be provided on the one hand, against those unna- 
tural tones and gestures, which, as you well observe, " arc a 
grand causeof our reproach and contempt*;" and on the other, 
against that cold insensible air, which sometimes, amongst 
strangers at least, affects even the moral character of the preacher. 

I think some care should be taken, both at the school and 
the academy, to engage students to a genteel and complaisant 
behaviour, not only as what is apparently conducive to their 
mutual ease and pleasure, and the convenience of the family 
where they are ; but as what may render them more agreeable 
and useful in life, to persons of superior rank, and even to the 
populace themselves. For a Avell-bred man knows how to con- 
descend, in the most obliging way; and the common people, 
such is either their good sense or their humour, are peculiarly 
pleased with the visits and converse of those, who they know 
may be welcome to greater company. 

And now, Sir, I have done with my subject, and must con- 
clude, with assuring you, that it is not the design of one line 
■which I have writ, merely to prove, that you are mistaken in 
any thing that you have asserted ; and therefore I have pur- 
posely avoided many citations from your letter, which might 
easily have been connected with what I have said. You will 
infer, from what you have read, that I differ from you in some 
other particulars, which are not mentioned, but they apparently 
depend on what I have debated at large ; and I chose to omit 
them, not only because my letter is already longer than I inten- 
ded, but from a general observation, which I have had frequent 
occasion to make ; that if a man desires to do good by what he 
says, he must oppose and contradict as little as possible. If I am 
mistaken in what I have advanced, I shall be heartily thankful 
for better information ; and, if it come from you, it will be pe- 
culiarly agreeable, as I shall have nothing to fear from your re- 
proaches, and much to hope from your arguments. 

/ am, Sir, your most hmubh Servant, 


* Enq. p. 43. 
$t|r This was printed in 1?5?P, being the first piece the Doctor published. 








JOHN Xxi. 15. 


The little verses now before the reader were written at the desire of my most 
worthy and honoured friend, the reverend Mr. Clark of St. Albans, and 
are published at his request, as what, he hopes, may by the divine blessing 
do some good in the rising generation. I was the more willing to undertake 
the task because I had often observed, witii how much ease and pleasure 
children learn verses by heart, how fond they are of repeating them, and by 
consequence, how much longer they retain them, than they do what they 
learn in prose. 

In this view Dr. Watts's songs for children have been a singular blessing 
to our land : And it is but justice to that great yet condescending writer to 
own, that if this light essay be of any service in it, a great part of the thanks 
will be due to him, who had digested the chief heads of Christianity in so 
natural a method, and expressed them in such easy yet comprehensive lan- 
guage, in the first p:irt of his second set of catechisms, that he had left me 
very little more to do under many of the articles, than to translate them into 
rhyme ; for I can hardly presume to call it poetry. 

That simplicity and ease, which may suit children, I have been always 
careful to maintain ; and have endeavoured here and there, where I conve- 
niently could, to strike the fancy with a little imagery, and especially to affect 
the heart of my dear little scholars, by giving a serious and practical turn 
to the several truths, which are delivered. It has also been my great care to 
insert nothing into these verses, but what I apprehend, the generality of 
serious christians believe, so that I hope they will suit different denominations ; 
as indeed I could wish, the rising age might be instructed, in what is like to 
unite, rather than divide us. Their own comfort, as well as the creditof our 
common Christianity, is mucli concerned in it. 

Some will, no doubt, think this a trifling performance : But I have been 
told, that the familiar system of religion, which Grotius drew up in easy verse 
for the use of the Dutch sailors, was esteemed by him and others, one of his 
most useful works: And if I had not the patronage of such illustrious names, 
as have gone before me in such humble labours, I should think mvseif un- 
wortliy tiie honour of calling Jesus my Master, if I thought it beneath me to 
be dej,irous of doing good to the least child of the poorest of the people. 

No nation under heaven appears to me so well furnished with helps for 
the christian education of children, as our own. I heartily pray, that pa- 
rents may be diligent in using them, and that they may inforce their good in- 
structions with a suitable example ; and then I doubt not, but, throu-^h the 
divine blessing, the happy fruits will be visible: Nor will a gracious God, 
who taketh pleasure in the prosperity of his people, forget the least pious 
and benevolent attempt for promoting so good a work. 


Northampton, October 51, 174-3. 




LESSON I. Of our own Nature, and its chief Glory and Happiness. 

X^ OW for a while, aside I'll lay 
My childless trifles, and my play ; 
And call my thoughts which rove abroad, 
To view myself, and view my God. 
I'll look within, that I may see 
What 1 now am, what I must be. 

I am the creature of the Lord t 
He made me by his powerful word. 
This body, in each curious part. 
Was wrought by his unfailing art. 
From him my nobler spirit came. 
My soul, a spark of heavenly flame : 
That soul, by which my body lives, 
Which thinks, and hopes, and joys, and grieves, 
And must in heaven or hell remain, 
When flesh is turn'd to dust again. 

What business then should I attend. 
Or what esteem my noblest end ? 
Sure it consists in this alone, 
That God my Maker may be known : 
So known, that I may love him still. 
And form my actions by his will : 
That He may bless me whilst I live, 
And, when I die, my soul receive. 
To dwell for ever in his sight 
In perfect knowledge and delight. 
VOL. IV. Ff 


LESSON II. The Knowledge of God and our Duty, to he learned from the Bible. 

HOW shall a young immortal learn 
This great, this infinite concern. 
What my Almighty Maker is, 
And what the way this God to please ? 

Shall some bright angel spread his wing 
The welcome message down to bring ? 
Or must we dig beneath the ground, 
Deep as where silver mines are found ? 

I bless his name for what I hear ; 
The word of life and truth is near, 
His gospel sounds through all our land ; 
Bibles are lodg'd in every hand. 
That sacred book inspir'd by God 
In our own tongue is spread abroad : 
That book may little children read, 
And learn the knowledge, which they need. 
I'll place it still before my eyes. 
For there my hope and treasure lies. 

LESSON III. Of the Nature and Attributes of the blessed God. 

GOD is a Spirit, none can see ; 
He ever was, is, and shall be : 
Present where-e'er his creatures dwell, 
Through earth and sea, through heaven and hell. 

His eye with infinite survey 
Views all their realms in full display : 
What has been, is, or shall be done, 
Or here, or there, to him is known ; 
Nor can one thought arise unseen, 
In mind of angels, or of men. 
Yet far above all anxious cares 
Serene, he rules his grand affairs ; 
While wisdom infinite attends 
By surest means, the noblest ends. 

Majestic from his lofty throne 
He speaks, and all his will is done ; 
Nor can united worlds withstand 
, The force of his Almighty hand. 

Yet ever righteous are his ways : 
Faithful and true whate'er he says : 


The holy, holy, holy Lord 
By all the angelic host ador'd. 

The bounty of his gracious hands 
Wide as the world he made, extends ; 
And though himself completely bless'd, 
With pity looks on the distress'd ; 
And by his Son our Saviour dear, 
•To sinners brings salvation near. 

All that is glorious, good, and great, 
Does in the Lord Jehovah meet. 
Then to his name be glory giv<2n 
By all on earth, and all in heaven. 

LESSON IV. Of God's Relation to us. 

THE Lord my Maker I adore, 
Created by his love and power, 
He fashion'd in their various forms 
Angels, and men, and beasts, and worms ; 
And all their well-rang-'d orders stand 
Supported by his powerful hand. 

Father of light ! Amidst the skies 
He bids the golden sun arise : 
He scatters the refreshing rain 
To cheer the grass, and swell the grain ; 
And every day presents the food. 
That satisfies my mouth with good. 

At home, abroad, by night, by day. 
He is ni}^ guardian, and my stay ; 
And sure 'tis fit, my soul should know, 
He is my Lord and Sovereign too. 

Oh may that voice that speaks his law, 
My heart to sweet obedience draw ; 
That when I see the Judge descend, 
I in that Judge may see my friend 1 

LESSON V. The Simi of our Duty to God and Man. 
THK knowledge which my heart desires, 
Is but to learn what God requires. 
Speak then the word, my Father dear, 
for all my soul's awake to hear : 
And oh, what joy my breast must move, 
To hear, that all thy law is love ! 
Ff 2 


This is the sum of every part ; 
To love the Lord with all my heart, 
With all my soul, with all my might, 
And in his service to delight : 
That I should love my neighbours too, 
And, what I wish from them, should do. 

How short and sweet, how good and plain, 
Easy to learn, and to retain ! ^ 

Oh may thy grace my soul renew ! 
And 'twill be sweet to practise too. 

LESSON VI. How our love to God is to he expressed. 
SINCE love is as my duty known. 
How must this love to God be shown ? 
Sure I the highest thoughts should raise 
Of him, who is above all praise : 
His favour most of all desire. 
And still to please him should aspire : 
To him be constant worship paid 
And all his sacred laws obey'd ! 

If to afflict me be liis will, 
I'll bear it with submission still : 
A tender father sure he proves, 
And but corrects, because he loves. 

His word with diligence I'll hear : 
To him present my daily prayer : 
And while new mercies I implore, 
For blessings past, I will adore ; 
And every action shall express 
A heart fuU-charg'd with thankfulness. 

LESSON VII. Hotv Love to our Neighbour should be expressed. 
I BY my love to men must prove 
How cordially my God I love. 
To those, whom He hath cloath'd with power, 
I would be subject every hour : 
To parents, and to rulers too, 
Pay honour and obedience due : 
In every word I'll truth maintain. 
In every act shall justice reign. 

In all my feeble hands can do, 
The good of all I would pursue : 


And where my powers of action fail, 
Kind wishes in my heart prevail 
For every man, whoe'er he he. 
Stranger, or friend, or enemy. 

Since by God's pardoning grace I live. 
Well may I all my foes forgive ; 
And, as Christ's word and pattern shew'd. 
Conquer their evil by my good. 

LESSON VIII. Sins to be avoided, in Thought, Word, and Action. 
GUARD me, O God, from every sin ; 
Let heart, and tongue, and life be clean ! 
Though with ten thousand snares beset, 
I never would my Lord forget. 

Fain would I learn to lay aside 
Malice, and stubbornness, and pride. 
Envy, and every evil thought ; 
Nor be my breast with anger hot. 
Each other passion wild and rude 
I long to feel by grace subdu'd. 

When thus my heart is well prepar'd. 
My tongue I easily shall guard 
From every oath, and curse profane, 
Nor take God's reverend name in vain ; 
No sacred thing shall I deride, 
Nor scoff, nor rail, nor brawl, nor chide : 
My soul will every lie detest, 
And every base indecent jest. 

This humble watchful soul of mine 
Shall with abhorrence then decline 
The drunkard's cup, the glutton's feast, 
That sink the man down to the beast ; 
The injurious blow, the wanton eye. 
The loss of hours, that quickly fly ; 
And that Avhich leads to every crime. 
The vain mispence of sacred time ; 
What brings dishonour on God's law. 
Or what on man would mischief draw, 

LESSON IX. The Corruption of Nature, and Sins of Life acknoxvledsed. 
LORD, Avhen my wretched soul surveys 
The various foihesof my ways, 


The guilt of every word and thought, 
Every neglect, and every fault ; 
Well may I trenible to appear. 
Laden with horror, shame, and fear. 

Adam our common head, alas ! 
Brought sin and death on all his race. 
From him my ruin'd nature came. 
Heir to his sorrow, and his shame : 
My body weak, and dark my mind, 
To God averse, to sin inclin'd : 
And oh ! too soon the deadly fruit 
Ripen'd from that unhappy root. 

Duty requir'd my early care 
Each fond indulgence to forbear ; 
Requir'd me, all the good I knew 
With constant vigour to pursue. 
But my vain heart and stubborn will. 
In its own ways would wander still ; 
Like a wild ass's colt, would go 
On to this wilderness of Avoe. 
Vainly I seek to plead a word. 
Silent in guilt before the Lord, 

LESSON X. Of the Misery zvJdch Sin hath brought upon us. 

WHO can abide God's wrath, or stand 
Before the terrors of his hand ? 
Jehovah's curse what heart shall dare 
To meet ? or what be strong to bear ? 

He every good can take away, 
And every evil on us lay : 
Can by one single word bring down 
The tallest head that wears a crown, 
The statesman wise, the warrior brave. 
To moulder in the silent grave ; 
And send the wretched soul to hell. 
To the fierce flames, where devils dwell. 
For endless years to languish there 
In pangs of infinite despair. 

I then, poor feeble child, how soon 
Must I dissolve before his frown ? 
And yet his frowns, and vengeance too, 
I by my sins have made my due. 


Is there no hope ? And must I die ? 
Is there no friend, no helper nigh ? 
Is it beyond repeal decreed, 
That every soul, that sins, must bleed ? 
Oh let my longing, trembling ear 
Some sound of grace and pardon hear ! 
My soul would the first news embrace, 
And turn its tremblings into praise. 

LESSON XT. Of the Gospel, or the Good News of Salvation by Christ. 
WHAT joyful tidings do I hear ? 
'Tis gospel- grace salutes my ear : 
And by thy gentle sound I find. 
This righteous God is mild and kind. 

Jesus, his only Son, displays 
The wonders of his Father's grace. 
The great salvation long foretold 
By prophets to the Jews of old 
Is now in plainer words made known, 
As to the apostles clearly shewn. 
By this blest message brought from heaven 
Pardon, and peace, and grace is given. 

Oh may I know that Saviour dear, 
Whom God has represented there I 
And that eternal life receive. 
Which he was sent b}' God to give ! 

LESSON XII. Who Christ is, and how he lived on Earth. 
JESUS ! how bright his glories shine 1 
The great Emmanuel is divine. 
One with the Father he appears, 
And all his Father's honours shares. 
Yet he, to bring salvation down, 
Has put our mortal nature on. 

He in an humble virgin's womb 
, A feeble infant did become : 
A stable was his lodging made, 
And the rude manger was his bed. 

Growing, in life he still was seen 
Humble, laborious, poor, and mean. 
The Son of God from year to year 
Did, as a carpenter, appear. 


At length, when he to preach was sent, 
Through towns and villages he went. 
And travell'd with unwearied zeal 
God's will and nature to reveal. 

To prove the heavenly truths, he taught, 
Unnuaiber'd miracles were wrought. 
The Wind beheld him ; and the ear, 
Which had been deaf, his voice could hear ; 
Sickness obe3^'d his healing hand ; 
And devils fled at his command ; 
The lame for joy around iiim leap ; 
The dead he wakens from their sleep. 

Through all his life his doctrine shines, 
Drawn in the plainest, fairest lines. 
And death at length did he sustain, 
Our pardon, and our peace to gain ; 
That sinners who condemned stood, 
Might gain salvation by his blood. 
All honour then ascribed be 
To him, Avho liv'd and died for me ! 

LESSON XIII. Of Christ's Death, Resurrection, and Ascension. 

JESUS the righteous ! lo, he dies, 
For sin a spotless sacrifice ! 
Justice has on his sacred head 
The weight of our transgressions laid. 
If God's own Son would sinners save, 
He must be humbled to the grave ; 
That so a pardoning God might sliew 
What vengeance to our crimes was due. 

Nail'd to the cross with torturing smart, 
What anguish rack'd his tender heart ! 
Alas ! how bitterly he cried, 
Tasted the vinegar, and died ! 
Cold in the tomb that mournful day, 
My Saviour's mangled body lay. 
Well may I blush, and weep, to see 
What Jesus bore for love of me. 

But, Oh my soul ! thy grief refrain, 
Jesus the Saviour lives again. 
On the third day the conqueror rose, 
And greatly triumph'd o'er his foesj 
Prov'd his recover'd life, and then 
Ascended to his heaven again. 


Exalted on a shining throne, 
At God's right hand he sets him down, 
To plead the merits of his blood, 
And rule for all his people's good : 

Wide o'er all worlds his power extends, 
And well can he protect his friends. 
May I in that blest band appear, 
Secure from danger, and from fear ! 

LESSON XIV. Of the Nature of Faith, and Repentance. 
THEY must repent, and must believe, 
Who Christ's salvation would receive. 

may thy Spirit faith impart, 
And work repentance in my heart ! 

Bless'd Jesus, who can be so base, 
As to suspect thy power, or grace ! 
Or who can e'er so stupid be 
To slight thy blessings. Lord, and thee ! 
With humble reverend hope and love 

1 to thy gracious feet Avould move, 
And to thy care my all resign, 
Resolv'd to be for ever thine ; 
Secure, if thou vouchsafe to keep 
My feeble soul among thy sheep. 

The sins and follies I have done 
Humbled in dust I would bemoan ; 
And while past guilt I thus deplore, 
I would repeat that guilt no more : 
But by a life of zeal and love 
True faith and penitence approve ; 
So shall thy grace my sins forgive : 
Jesus shall smile, and I shall live. 

LESSON XV. Of the Assistances and Influences of the Blessed Spirit. 
'TIS not in my weak power alone, 
To melt this stubborn heart of stone, 
My soul to change, my life to mend. 
Or seek to Christ, that generous friend. 

'Tis God's own Spirit from above 
Fixes our faith, inflames our love. 
And makes a life divine begin 
In wretched souls, long dead in sin. 
VOL. IV. G g 


That most important gift of heaven 
To those that ask and seek is given : 
Then be it my immediate care, 
With importunity of prayer, 
To seek it in a Saviour's name, 
Who will not turn my hopes to shame, 

God from on high his grace shall pour ; 
My soul shall flourish more and more, 
l^resson with speed from grace to grace, 
Till glory end and crown the race. 

Since then the Father and the Son, 
And Holy Spirit, three in one, 
Glorious beyond all speech and thought, 
Have jointly my salvation Avrought ; 
I'll join them in my songs of praise, 
Now, and through heaven's eternal days. 

LESSON XVI. Of the Means of Grace, zdiich God has appointed. 
WHAT kind provision God has made, 
That we may safe to heaven be led ! 
For this the prophets preach'd and wrote, 
For this the bless'd apostles taught ; 
Taught, as that Spirit did inspire, 
Who fell from heaven in tongues of fire, 
And gave them languages unknown, 
That distant lands his grace might own. 
His hand lias kept the sacred page 
Secure from men and devils' rage. 

For this. He ehurches did ordain. 
His truths and worship to maintain : 
For this, He pastors did provide. 
In those assemblies to preside : 
And from the round of common da3's 
Mark'd out our sabbaths to his praise. 
Delightful day, when Christians meet ! 
To hear, and pray, and sing, how sweet ! 

For this He gives, in solemn "vvays. 
Appointed tokens of his grace : 
In sacramental pledges there 
His soldiers to their General sv/ear. 
Baptiz'd into one common Lord, 
They joyful meet around his board ; 
Honour the orders of his house, 
And speak their love, and seal their vows. 


LESSON XVI [. Of the Design and Obligation of Baptism. 
IN baptism wash'd we all must be, 
In honour of the sacred Three, 
To shew how we are washM from sin 
In Jesu's blood, and born again 
By grace divine ; and thus are made 
Members of Christ our common head. 

The Father form'd the glorious scheme, 
And we adopted are by him. 

The Son, great Prophet, Priest, and King, 
Did news of this redemption bring : 
He, by his death, our life procur'd. 
And now bestows it as our Lord. 

The Holy Spirit witness bore 
To this blest gospel heretofore ; 
And teaches those, he's purified. 
Faithful and patient to abide. 

Into these names was I baptiz'd ; 
And be the honour justly priz'd : "^ 

Nor let the sacred bond be broke, 
Nor be my covenant-God forsook. 
Thus wash'd Pd keep my garments clean, 
And never more return to sin. 
One body now all Christians are : 
Oh may they in one spirit share ! 
And cherish that endearing love. 
In which the saints are bless'd above ! 

L ESSON X Vni. On tfie Nature and Design of the Lord's-Supper. 

THE memory of Christ's death is sweet. 
When saints around his table meet. 
And break the bread, and pour the wine. 
Obedient to his word divine. 

While they the bread and cup receive, 
If on their Saviour they believe, 
They feast, as on his flesh and blood ; 
Cordial divine, and heavenly food ! 
Thus their baptismal bond renew. 
And love to every Christian shew. 

Well may their souls rejoice, and thrive : 
Oh may the blessed hour arrive, 



When ripe in knowledge, and in grace, 
I at that board shall find a place ! 
And now, what there his people do, 
I would at humble distance view ; 
Would look to Christ with grateful heart, 
And in their pleasures take my part; 
Resolv'd, Avhile such a sight I see, 
To live to him, who died forme. 

LESSON XIX. Of the Nature and Office of Angels. 

MY soul, the heavenly world survey. 
The regions of eternal day ! 
There Jesus reigns, and round his seat 
Millions of glorious angels meet. 

Those morning stars, how bright they shine ! 
How sweetly all their voices join. 
To praise their Maker ! watchful still 
To mark the signals of his will ; 
While with their out-stretch'd wings they stand, 
To fly at his divine command. 

All happy as they are, and great, 
Yet scorn they not on men to wait : 
And little children in their arms 
They gently bear, secure from harms. 

Oh may I, with such humble zeal. 
My heavenly Father's word fulfil ! 
That I, when time has run its race. 
May with bless'd angels find a place. 
Borne on their friendly wings on high 
To joys like theirs, which never die. 

LESSON XX. Of the Fall, and State of the Devils, 

WELL may I tremble, when I read 
That sin did heaven itself invade ; 
Curs'd pride, with subtilty unknown. 
Perverted angels near God's throne : 
They sinn'd against his holy name. 
And hateful devils they became. 
But wrath divine pursu'd them soon, 
And flaming vengeance hurl'd them down. 

Now in the pangs of fierce despair, 
Prisoners at large they range in air ; 


Wallc through the earth, unheard, unseen, 
And la}' their snares for thoughtless men ; 
Tempt us to sin against our God, 
And draw us to hc^U's downward road. 

But God can all their power restrain: 
My Saviour holds them in his chain, 
Till at his har they all appear, 
And meet their final sentence there. 

LESSON XXI. On Death. 
LORD, I confess thy sentence just, 
That sinful man should turn to dust ; 
That I e'er long should yield my breath, 
The captive of all-conquering death. 

Soon will the awful hour appear, 
When I must quit my dwelling here ; 
These active limbs, to worms a prey. 
In the cold grave must waste away : 
Nor shall I share in all that's done, 
In this wide world, beneath the sun. 

To distant climes, and seats unknown, 
My naked spirit must be gone : 
To God its Maker must return. 
And ever joy, or ever mourn. 

No room for penitence and prayer. 
No farther preparation there 
Can e'er be made ; the thought is vain: 
My state unalter'd must remain. 

Awake, my soul, without delay ; 
That if God summons thee this day, 
Thou cheerful at his call mayest rise, 
And spring to life beyond the skies. 

LESSON XXII. On the Resurrection of the Dead. 

WHAT awful ruins death hath made ! 
How low the wise and great are laid ! 
Alike the saints, and sinners, die ; 
Mouldering alike in dust they lie. 
But there's a day, shall change the scene. 
How awful to the sons of men ! 

When the arch-angel's trump shall sound, 
And shake the air, and cleave the ground; 


Jesus enthron'd in light appears, 

Circled with angels, bright as stars. 

*' Rise ye that sleep," the Lord shall say : 

And all the earth, and all the sea, 

Vield up the nations of the dead. 

For ages in their bowels hid. 

Bone knows its kindred bone again, 

AH cloth'd anew with flesh and skin : 

Each spirit knows its proper mate ; 

They rise an army vast and great. 

But Oh what different marks they bear. 
Of transport some, and some of fear; 
When marshall'd in the judge's sight. 
These to the left, those to the right, 
That they may that last sentence hear, 
Which shall their endless state declare! 
My soul, in deep attention stay, 
And learn the event of such a day ! 

LESSON XXIII. Of Judgment and Eternity, Heaten and Hell. 

WHEN Christ to judge the world descends, 
Thus shall he say to all his friends : 
*' Come blessed souls, that kingdom share, 
*' My Father did for you prepare, 
*' 'Ere earth was founded : Come, and reign, 
**^ Where endless life and joy remain." 

Then to the wicked, — *' Cursed crew, 
" Depart, heaven is no place for you : 
** To those eternal burnings go, 
*' Whose pangs the rebel angels know." 

He speaks, and strait, his shining bands 
With fiery thunders in their hands, 
Drive them away: Hell's lake receives 
The wretches on its flaming waves : 
justice divine the gates shall bar. 
And for a seal aflSx despair. 

While Jesus, rising from his throne, 
Leads his triumphant army on, 
To enter their divine abode, 
In the fair city of their God. 
There everlasting pleasures grow ; 
Full rivers of salvation flow ; 
And all their happiness appears 
Increasing with eternal years. 



LESSON XXIV. The Conclusion, in a practical Reflection on the fFhole. 

AND now, my heart, with reverend awe 
From hence thine own instruction draw. 
I at this judgment must appear; 
I must this solemn sentence hear, 
(As I'm with saints or sinners plac'd,) 
*' Depart accurs'd," or " Come ye blest.'* 
For me the fruits of glory grow ; 
Or hell awaits my fall below. 

Eternal God ! what shall I do ? 
IVIy nature trembles at the view : 
My deathless soul herself surveys. 
With joy, and terror, and amaze. 
Oh be thy shield around me spread, 
To guard the spirit, thou hast made ! 
Save me from snares of earth, and hell, 
And from my self preserve me well : 
Lest all the heavenly truths I know, 
Should aggravate my guilt and woe ! 

Thy power in weakness is display'd: 
If babes by thee be conquerors made, 
It Satan's malice shall confound, 
And heaven with praises shall resound. 






T(\(iu9u^ fv oXiyw fTrXnfua-i p^povj;; /xaxps?. Aperw yap m Kvpji> v 
■^vx^ »v]ii' ^»« rtfio i<jviva-a — . Sap. iv. 13, 14. 

VOL, IV. H h 


If the dedication of a book be any token of gratitude and respect, or the patronage 
of it any instance of generosity and favour, you have the justest title to this volume in 
one view, and I the greatest encouragement to address it to you in the other. I 
know, Sir, that to enlarge on these topics, would, to a gentleman of your character, 
be making a very disagreeable kind of return : But you will allow me to let the world 
know, that I am inscribing these posthumous sermons of Mr. Steffe to one of the best 
of his friends, as well as of mine, and to him, to whom, had he been engaged to pub- 
lish them himself, he would surely have chosen to present the first fruits of his labours. 
And permit me. Sir, thus publicly to thank you for all the pleasure you gave me in 
an opportunity of cultivating the mind of so worthy a youth, and for the foundation 
which you laid for that excellent example he gave, as well as for the wise and pious 
instructions he delivered, in circumstances and relations of life, which, unsupported 
by your bounty and care, it is probable he bad never known. You, Sir, discovered 
this promising plant in its tenderest state, and presented it to the garden of God ; and 
though we must not arraign the wise hand that removed it, every one will own it 
reasonable, that these early, yet pleasant and wholesome fruits which dropped from 
it should be presented to you. And I persuade myself. Sir, that, though they are not 
ripened to all that height of beauty and of flavour which a maturer growth might have 
given them, you will receive them with candor; and indeed, I am not without some 
cheerful hope, that they may afford you both delight and nourishment. 

When 1 intimate, that Mr. Barker may not only be entertained, but edified by 
the productions of our young friend, 1 might seem to speak with too httle caution, 
and to raise an expectation which a prudent friendship will always avoid, when it 
would introduce persons or books into the world with advantage. But it is the happi- 
ness of great wisdom and goodness (I had almost said, it is a part of its reward) to be 
entertained, and edified, by the writings of those who are much its inferiors, and most 
readily to exercise an indulgence which itself least needs. In this view you, Sir, 
would have read these sermons with pleasure, had they been the work of a stranger: 
But you cannot, and I think you ought not to forget, that you were, through the di- 
vine goodness, the instrument of giving them to the world. And you will be quicken- 
ed to renew your bounties of this kind, and a more important kind is not easily to be 
named, when you so sensibly perceive, that, short as the date of our friend's life was, 
your labour, with regard to its present effects, hath not been in vain in the Lord. 

They who know the relation in which I stood to Mr. Steffe will readily believe, 
that I have so^^e peculiar share in your joys on such an occasion : But if there were 
not such 3^ distinguishing tie as in the present case, I must be insensible to a long 
train of personal obligations, if I did not affectionately take my part in all your satis- 
factions and joys. I bless God that they arise from such a variety of springs ; that 
they swell into so full a stream; and above all, that they are so faithfully, and so 
constantly returned backto him, from whom they originally proceed, 

I do. Sir, in my conscience apprehend, that when addressing the ministers of 
the gospel, there is seldom reason to congratulate them on their distinguished circum- 
stances in temporal life. When the more abundant gifts of the divine bounty seem 
to be received, as if, like those given to the Hebrew servants, they were a part of the 
ceremonialof their dismission from their Lord, they are indeed the calamity, rather 
than the happiness of the proprietors, be they ever so copious, or ever so splendid. 
That is really a poisonous draught, be it ever so luscious, which intoxicates the mind, 
and lulls it into a forgetfulness of the interest of Christ, and of immortal souls. But 
where affluent circumstances are considered as an engagement to serve God with 
greater cheerfulness and zeal in the abundance of all things; where the possessor 
considers himself as the steward of God in temporals as well as spirituals, and as the 
almoner who is to distribute the divine bounties to his indigent brethren, whether 
ministers or private Christians; and where all this is done in the easy, cheerful, eii- 

Hh 2 


dearing manner of a heart that feels how much more hlessed it is to give than to re- 
ceive : This, Sir, is a most grateful spectacle, not only to the eye of an intimate and 
obhged friend, but of a stranger who understands any thing of the beauty of charac- 
ter; and is, I doubt not, venerable as well as amiable, in the eyes of those celes- 
tial spirits from whom it seems to be copied. Human acknowledgments on such an 
occasion are little things to the voice of an approving conscience, and an approving 
God. I hope therefore. Sir, that the many, whose burdens (to my certain knowledge) 
you have eased, and whose hearts you have gladdened, will express their gratitude in 
a nobler way, by endeavouring to serve the public with greater alacrity, while they are 
freed from the incumbrances which must othenvise have depressed and broken their 

1 heartily bless God, that while good Mr. Barker is possessed of these pleasures, 
which so few of his brethren in the dissenting ministry can have, he also shares with 
the most acceptable, and I hope I may add, the most successful of them, in those 
which immediately arise from the exercise of his sacred office. It is with un- 
utterable delight, that I see so valuable a friend recovered from the remainders of 
that disorder, which seemed some years ago to threaten the speedy period of 
his public services. To be able to vent the fulness of your heart under a sense 
of the grace of the gospel, and to represent the important engagements to vital 
and universal holiness which so naturally arise from it, would give a nobler 
pleasure than money could purchase, though it were only in your own house, to 
a little circle which might fill one of its rooms. There indeed you might equally 
approve the sincerity of your heart in the presence of him that searches it: But 
you must give your friends, that is, as I should imagine, all the friends of virtue 
and religion who know you, leave to rejoice, that Providence having invigorated you 
for it, has called you out to constant service in one of the most numerous and im- 
portant congregations which is to be found among us, even in London, that great sup- 
port of our interest through the whole kingdom : There, my dear and honoured friend, 
may j'ou long continue to dehght, and to bless crouded, attentive, and serious audi- 
tories, growing daily more attentive, and more serious, while your doctrine drops up- 
on them like the dew, and distils like the rain ! May you have the pleasure to see, not 
merely that they are capable of relishing the dignity of sentiment, the propriety of 
language, and the gracefulness of delivery ; but, which is infinitely more desirable, 
that they continually advance in faith, in holiness, and in love, to the glory of that 
God whom you serve with your spirit in the gospel of his Son, and to whom all that 
you are and have is so faithfully, and so zealously devoted ! 

For these great purposes may your important life be prolonged, and your 
health, with that of your valuable lady, be supported to many future years ! Maj' the 
secret blessing of the God of heaven sweetly mingle itself with all the concerns of 
both ! May it fill your house with prosperity, and your hearts with that joy which a 
stranger intermeddleth not with, and which, though it were in a royal palace, can grow 
upon no stock but benevolence, friendship, and devotion ! And may the various 
blessings of a long, and a happy life, be at length crowned with those of an infinitely 
happier immortality ! 

Whenever that solemn moment comes which is to remove you from time to 
eternity, I know that it must leave multitudes lamenting ; so deeply lamenting, 
that it is painful to speak, or to think of it. But I rejoice, Sir, to reflect, how many 
friends above will then be waiting to receive you to everlasting habitations. I doubt 
not but the spirit of our dear author will be numbered and distinguished among them; 
and that your generous concern to promote the spread, and the acceptance of these 
his remains, will, so far as it may be known to him, increase his acknowledgment. 
In the mean time. Sir, I persuade myself, that among all your other good offices, you 
will join your earnest prayers for their success, with those of, 
Reverend and dear Sir, 

Your most obhged and aflectionate brother. 
And obedient humble servant, 
Northampton, June S,\1i2. F. DODDRIDGE. 






JL HE pious author of these discourses was so early removed 
from our world, and made so short an appearance on any public 
stage of action, that there is no room for any to expect a variety 
of remarkable occurrences in his life. By far the greater part 
of those few years, which Providence allotted him, was spent m 
assiduous preparation for services, which alas ! he was never per- 
mitted to accomplish. Nevertheless, as a person curious in the 
anatomy of vegetables would look with some satisfaction on a 
blossom yet folded up in the bud, while he traced the first rudi- 
ments of its future form, as well as that peculiar apparatus 
which was subservient to its preservation and growth in that in- 
fant state, though it never grew up to display its vivid colours, 
and diffuse its fragrancy ; so I flatter myself, that something 
may occur in this narration, not unworthy the notice of sur- 

They who, like our author, in the years I shall principally 
describe, are growing up to the work of the ministry, may, I 
hope, learn in many instances, what it is to be desired they may 
be, while I am telling them what Mr. Steffe was ; and if they 
go and do likewise, it may be for the benefit of multitudes Avho 
are yet unborn, that this little sketch has been drawn. And the 
generality of readers may, perhaps, be more disposed to edify 
by his writings, as they grow better acquainted with his cha- 
racter : For it is certain, that nothing adds greater authority to 
a minister's instructions from the pulpit or the press, than an 
apprehension that they are transcribed and uttered from his 

Our author was the son of a worthy clergyman of the esta- 
blished church, the Reverend Mr. John Steffe, once of Emanuel- 
College in Cambridge, and afterwards Rector of Wrentham in 
the county of Suffolk. This gentleman, remarkable for his 
piety, learning, and moderation, married Mrs, Martha Popland 
of Raydon, in Suffolk, by whom he had several children, wlio 


survive their honoured father, I hope, to be long-lived blessings 
to their other pious parent, and to supply, as far as possible, 
the great loss she sustained, so soon after she became a widow, 
by the death of two most hopeful and delightful sons *. 

Mr. Thomas Steffe was born April 6, 1716 ; and though 
he had a very weak constitution, so that his life was hardly ex- 
pected from his infancy, (for he soon appeared subject to an 
asthmatic disorder, besides other infirmities ;) yet he discovered 
such an early solidity of genius, seriousness of temper, and 
fondness for books, that his father soon determined to indulge 
his desire of being bred a scholar : And as he candidly referred 
it to himself, as his judgment advanced towards maturity, to 
judge for himself in religious matters, he generously acqui- 
esced in the young gentleman's choice of pursuing his studies 
among the protestant dissenters. 

I am informed that he had most of his education in the 
languages under his father, who was well acquainted with them, 
and especially a very accurate judge in the elegancies of the 
Latin, of which I had some remarkable proofs in my correspond- 
ence with him. It is not very material to mention the particu- 
lar places in which our author improved and perfected his 
studies. It may suffice to say, that when he was judged nearly 
qualified for the academy, as he resolutely declined, from prin- 
ciples of conscience, those offers Mhich a person of the first 
rank in the established church had kindly made of providing for 
him at the University, his case was accidentally mentioned to 
that excellent person to whom I have inscribed these fruits of 
his labours ; who, ready to embrace all opportunities to serve 
the public interest, made a particular enquiry into his character 
and disposition, and in concurrence with another, and to me un- 
known benefactor, determined to assist this hopeful youth with 
a supply of twenty pounds a year, that his education might not 
be burdensome to his good father then far advanced in years, 
and charged with the care of a numerous family. 

In the year 1733, Mr. Steffe was sent, at the request of his 
friends, to one of those little seminaries among the protestant 
dissenters, where attempts are used to supply, in the best man- 
ner we can, the want of more public advantages for education, 
and to guide the minds of young persons intended for the mi- 
nistry into such preparatory studies as may in some measure 
qualify them for appearing properly in it. He was then in his 

* The Rev. Mr. Steffe, of Wrentham, died August 7, 1737 j one of his sons, 
December 23, 1738 j and the other dear youth, the author of these sermons, June 4, 


18th year ; but as he well knew the importance of making himself 
master of the learned languages in younger life, he desired to 
be excused from entering upon the philosophical part of his 
course, till he had spent almost another year in applying himself 
to them ; and particularly to Greek, which, I am sorry to say 
it, is not generally cultivated in private schools with that care 
and exactness w hich it deserves and requires. He prosecuted 
these studies with such resolution, and such success, that, on the 
whole, the most celebrated classics both of Greece and Rome 
were a delight rather than a drudgery to him ; and thus a foun- 
dation was laid for that solidity, strength, and correctness both 
of sentiments and stile, which must seldom be expected, where 
those great originals are unknown or disregarded. 

I cannot forbear mentioning two other precautions, which 
Mr. Steffe took in his entrance on this stage of life, which ap- 
peared to me remarkably prudent. The one was, that he en- 
deavoured to gain an early acquaintance with the character of 
books, especially those of the little library to which he had 
access ; and was ready to take the advice of more experienced 
friends in the choice of those he should read, that he might 
not throw away his time in those which were of little impor- 
tance ; and also that he might not anticipate the perusal of 
others, which might more properly be reviewed in some future 
time. And I must needs say, that the neglect of this caution, 
obvious as it is, may make a well-furnished library a snare 
rather than a benefit. The other particular I referred to, was 
his care immediately to learn short-hand, and that not merely in 
its first rudiments, with Avhich too many content themselves, 
but to some degree of exactness, elegance, and readiness. In 
consequence of this, he became capable with great ease, and 
in a very little time, to make many valuable extracts from the 
books he read and consulted ; not to mention the many hours 
which it afterwards saved him, in the composition of discourses 
for the pulpit. 

I think it was also during the first year, that he laid a 
foundation for reading the Old Testament in its original lan- 
guage ; a care so very necessary, that I wonder it should ever 
be omitted ; or that any young gentleman in an age like ours 
should be judged competently qualified for the pulpit, who Hes 
as much at the mercy of translators in studying the larger half 
of his bible, as any of the people he is to teach. It is, however, 
■with pleasure that I observe, how seldom this is done among the 
protestant dissenters, so far as I have an opportunity to learn ; 
and I am sorry to hear from many learned clergymen, with 


■whom I have the honour to be acquainted, how often it is 
totally neglected by those, whose advantages for literature are 
so very much distinguished. 

I shall not here give a particular account of the method in 
"which Mr, Steflfe's education, and that of his companions, was 
carried on, while at the academy, though I have often been re- 
quested and importuned to write largely on this head. I con- 
tent myself with observing in general, that he did not despise 
any part of polite literature, which seemed subservient to his 
honourable appearance in the ministry in so learned an age and 
country as our own ; but, nevertheless, applied himself with the 
greatest assiduity to those things which appeared of the most 
eminent and immediate service ; in which view he is worthy of 
being imitated by all that regard either their acceptance or 
usefulness in the churches. 

In the former view, besides the general preparations of 
logic, rhetoric, and metaphysics, he made himself acquainted 
with the principles of geometry and algebra, and, I think also, of 
conic sections, and celestial mechanics. That steady com- 
mand of thought, and attention of mind, for which our author 
was remarkable, and the traces of which were discoverable in 
his countenance, made these studies pleasant rather than fatigu- 
ing to him ; and he soon saw the tendency they have to 
teach us to distinguish our ideas Avith accuracy, and to dispose 
our ai-guments in a clear, concise, and convincing manner. 
These introduced him into the easy knowledge of mechanics, 
statics, hydrostatics, optics, pneumatics and astronomy, so far 
as it was judged material to open to him the chief phsenomena 
of each with their respective solutions. He added to these some 
other articles, which have their place in Avhat is usually called 
the Encyclopaedia of Learning, especially something of natural 
history, and a jDretty large view of the anatomy of the human 
body, the knowledge of which he cultivated with peculiar care 
and pleasure, as well observing the tendency it has to promote 
our veneration and love to the great architect of this amazing 
frame, whose wonders of providential influence also arc so appa- 
rent in its support, nourishment, and motion. 

For all these studies Mr. Steflfe had a relish, and a genius ; 
but the fai- greater part of his time, especially in the last three 
years of his course, was employed in others more directly pre- 
paratory for the great work he had in view. In this number I 
must reckon a large and particular investigation of .Jewish An- 
tiquities, in which he met with the illustration of numberless 
texts in the Old Testament, which cannot be well understoocj 



•without tliem : As likewise his survey of Ecclesiastical History, 
of which Lampe's admirable Epitome Avas the ground-work ; 
which I mention, because I wonder it is no more generally 
known, though so very far superior to anything else of the like 
kind, for the vast variety of judicious hints which it contains, in 
a little room, and most beautiful order. His view of the doc- 
trines of the ancient philosophers in their various sects, had been 
taken with greater advantage, had Buddaeus's Compendium 
liistoriiB PhilosophicaB been then known ; but something of 
this kind he surveyed, and it could not but serve to endear 
Christianity to him, that glorious light which dispels their shades 
of learned and artificial darkness. 

These articles took up some hours ever}^ Aveek, in the latter 
years of his course ; but by far the greater part of his time 
throughout this whole period, so far as it fell under the direction 
of his tutor, was employed in a series of about 250 lectures of 
divinity in the largest extent of the word, that is, considered as 
including what is most material in pneumatology and ethics *. 
In this compendium were contained, in as few words as perspi- 
cuity would admit, the most material things which had occurred 
to the author's observation, relating to the nature and properties 
of the human mind, the proof of the existence and attributes of 
God, the nature of moral virtue, the various branches of it, the 
means subservient to it, and the sanctions by which its precepts, 
considered asGod's natural law, are enforced ; under which head. 
the natural evidence of the immortalit}^ of the soul was largely 
examined. To this was added some survey of what is, and gene- 
rally has been, the state of virtue in the world ; from whence the 
transition was easy to the need of a revelation, the encouragement 
to hope it, and the nature of the evidence which might probably 
attend it. From hence the work naturally proceeded to the evidence 
produced in proof of that revelation which the scripture contains. 
The genuineness, credibility, and inspiration of these sacred 
books were then cleared up at large, and vindicated from all the 
most considerable objections, which modern infidels (those sin- 
ners against their own souls) have urged. When this foundation 
was laid, the chief doctrines of scripture were drawn out into 
a large detail ; those relating to the P^ather, Son, and Spirit, to 
the original and fallen state of man, to the scheme of our redemp- 

* The manuscript, which was the plan of these, consists of axioms, definitions, 
propositions, lemmata, demonstrations, corollaries, and scholia, just in the method 
which nisithematicians use, though without the introduction of those arbitrary marks, 
which some have affected on like occasions. 

VOL. IV. I i 


tion by Christ, and the offices of the Spirit as the great ageiltirt 
the Redeemer's kingdom. The nature of the covenant of grace 
was particularly stated, and the several precepts and institutions 
of the gospel, with the views which it gives us of the concluding 
scenes of our world, ahd of the eternal state beyond it. What 
seemed most evident on these heads was thrown into the propo- 
sitions, some of which were problematical ; and the chief con- 
troversies felating to each were thrown into the scholia ; and 
all illustrated bya very large collection of references*, con- 
taining perhaps, one lecture with another, the substance of 
forty or fifty octavo pages, in which the sentiments and reason- 
ings of the most considerable authors on all these heads might 
be seen in their own words ; which it was the business of the 
students to read and contract, in the intervals between these 
lectures, of which only three were given in a Week, and some- 
times but two. The mind of this excellent youth knew how to 
judge of the importance of this part of his course : It struck 
him strongly ; and as he made it his early care to transcribe the 
manuscript with great exactness, so he studied both the lectures 
and references diligently, and made himself master of them to 
such a degree, as to be able to handle such points of theology 
as occurred to him in his course of preaching, not in a crude 
indigested manner, but with art accuracy and solidity, rather 
worthy of a divine, who had numbered more years of study, 
than he of life. 

As he was always encouraged and exhorted to enquire 
freely, and to judge for himself, so it was particularly [recom- 
mended to him to take his system of divinity, not from the senti- 
ments of any human teacher, but from the word of God. This 
therefore he early studied, and seta great value on those critical 
lectures on the New Testament, which he weekly attended, and 
carefully transcribed; besides those daily expositions in the fa- 
mily, in which, within the five years, he spent in this course^ he 
had an opportunity of hearing alnfbst the whole Old Testatnent 
explained from the original, as well as the New twice or thrice 
illustrated, partly, though not entirely, in a practical view. If 
I remember right, he soon took the wise precaution (which I 
would recommend to every young student) to get an interleaved 
bible, and a Wetstein's Greek Testament interleaved with good 
paper in quarto ; in which he wrote memorandums of the most 
considerable remarks for the illustration of scripture, which oc- 
curred to him in reading, conversation, or reflection. And had 

* See Fam. Expos. Vol. 1 . Pref. p. iv. 


Providence continued him a few years longer in that prudent 
and diHgent course, I question not but these manuscripts would 
have been a rich repository of valuable materials j for he had a 
true genius for criticism, in those which I take to be its noblest 
and masterly parts ; which are those which depend, not merely 
on dint of industry, but on sagacity, elevation, and vivacity of 
thought ; to which I must add, a truly devotional temper of 
mind, without which it will be impossible for any man to relish, 
and therefore to be sure, impossible tq point out the beauties qf 
the sacred writers. 

His great desire to appear in a becoming manner under 
the character of a preacher, as well as a concern to cultivate re- 
ligion in his own soul, engaged him intimately to converse 
with the best practical writers our fertile country has produced; 
in which number, I know, he peculiarly esteemed Mr. Howe, 
and Mr. Baxter, not to mention any of those lights of the sanc- 
tuary, which through the great goodness of God to us, are not 
yet extinguished, and who will, 1 doubt not, preach with abun- 
dant success to generations long to come. I believe that day 
seldom passed, in which some of these writers were not in his 
hands, in Avhom he sought at once the improvement of the 
Christian, and of the minister ; and I think it must argue a great 
defect of understanding, as well as of real piety, if any theolo- 
gical students are negligent of this. 

The sanie good principle, which led Mr. Steffe to be very 
conversant with such books, engaged him also to attend with 
great diligence to those instructions which were largely given 
him, on the in^portj^nt head of preaching and pastoral care. 
And while I speak of this, I must not forget how gladly he erq- 
braced the opportunity, which the custom of the place gave 
him, to submit, first, the schemes of his sermons, and then seve- 
ral of the sermons themselves, to the examination and correction 
of that friend who had the charge of his education ; A privilege 
which those th?it least need it, generally value inost ; and which, 
if I do not much mistake, may be more instructive to young 
preachers, than any general rules for composition, which can be 
offered them by those, who are themselves most eminent in theif 
profession. An early care to get a due management of his vqice, 
Sind to form himself to a just, animated, yet unaffected delivery, 
set an agreeable varnish on what was in itself muph more im- 
portant ; and greatly contributed to that extensive, and well- 
merited popularity, which j^ttended him, so far as I can learn, 
from the first sermon he preached to the last. Sad calamity to 


the churcb, and the world, that the interval between the one and 
the other was so short ! 

Hitherto I have considered Mr. Steffe's character and con- 
duct as a scholar, during the series of his academical studies: 
I must now describe him in another yet more important view, 
which will carry us a little farther into his life, as well as deeper 
into his heart, I mean, as a Christian. And here, I shall not 
mention a variety of particulars, which I comprehend in say- 
ing, *' He was, as I am verily persuaded, a Christian indeed;" 
but shall only mention some of those exemplary effects, which 
the sincere and lively piety of his heart produced, in a beautiful 
correspondence to those circumstances of life in which he was 
placed. And this I attempt, not in a view of raising a monu- 
ment to the memory of a dear deceased friend, I doubt not but 
the applause of his great Master has raised him high above all 
such; but rather of hinting instruction to others, by exhibiting 
him more fully in a point of light, which has seldom been enlarged 
upon by those who have written lives, whether from a very mis- 
taken apprehension that it was of little moment, or, as I would 
rather hope, for want of materials. Providence has ordered it 
so, that it was almost all the history that can be given of Mr. 
Steffe, and has assigned this office to one, who had an opportu- 
nity of collecting materials from what he himself saw ; tliough I 
must add, that in what I have farther to write, my personal ob- 
servations have been much illustrated by a collection of his 
letters to his parents and other near relations, the originals of 
which are now before me. 

No advantages of genius, and, could they have come 
into question, no views of preferment, could have engaged 
so worthy a clergyman as Mr. Steffe's father was, to enter 
into measures for his being brought up to the ministerial 
office, if he had not known him to be a blameless and a vir- 
tuous youth : But from some things which he has wrote of him- 
self in papers now before me, the particulars of which it is 
not necessary to transcribe, I have reason to believe, that real 
religion was of a later date in his heart, than his first views of 
undertaking the sacred work in which he afterwards engaged. 
An awful text of scripture solemnly and seasonably dropped 
from the venerable lips of his pious father, a little before he 
quitted the family, seems to have given a most happy turn to his 
mind, and under divine influence to have been the immediate 
occasion of producing that sincere piety there, which afterwards 
grew so fast, and shone so bright. 

I find, that when he first came to the academy, his religious 


resolutions were seriously renewed and confirmed; and he was 
very earl}"^ animated with asohcitous concern, to do good to the 
souls of others, as well as to secure the salvation of his own. 
This particularly ajjpears in a letter which he then wrote to an 
elder lorother, who was just then coming out of an apprentice- 
ship, and entering on life ; and it is pleasant to observe, what a 
mixture of prudence, fidelity, and tenderness runs through the 
whole of it. He was very apprehensive, from what he had ob- 
served in his brother's temper and conduct, as well as from the 
remarks he had even then made upon the world in general, that 
he would be in great danger of being ensnared ; and though he 
was afterwards remarkably recovered by Divine Grace, some 
circumstances which followed too plainly shewed, how just those 
apprehensions were. Our author therefore plainly admonishes 
him of his danger, and seriously urges him to make religion his 
choice and his business, as the great point of wisdom both for 
time and eternity : Yet he mingles this with so many acknow- 
ledgments of his own imperfections, of his having neglected 
many early advantages of improvement, and having perhaps in 
some instances of sin and folly ensnared so intimate a companion, 
that it plainly shews, he did not forget the respect due to an 
elder brother, and that it was not pride, but cordial love, that 
dictated what he wrote. " I am," says he, " unworthy to be 
called a child of God; yet through his goodness I see and taste 
so much sweetness in religion, that I cannot but recommend it 
to others." And accordingly he does recommend it, by a va- 
riety of most weighty arguments ; and concludes them all with 
such a serious representation of the uncertainty of youth and 
health, and the possibility of an early surprise by death, as is 
peculiarl}^ moving, when one recollects that the person by whom 
this letter was written, and he to whom it was addressed, were 
both called into eternity in their blooming years. 

It is with some difficulty that I forbear inserting the whole ; 
but I fear swelling these memoirs to a disproportionate size : 
Nevertheless I find myself, as it were, constrained to transcribe 
great part of another letter, which he wrote much about the 
same time to a younger brother Mr. John Steft'e, to engage him 
to resume those views of the ministry, which he seemed at that 
time inclinable to lay aside. It discovers much of the heart of 
the writer; and I hope, they who are training up for that office, 
whose benefit I have here particularly in view, will read it with 
some peculiar attention, as coming from one of their companions ; 
if they will allow the name of a companion to one, who was as 
yet only in the pursuit of his grammatical studies. That was 


Mr. Steffe's circumstance, when he wrote t!ie following epistle; 
and yet I freely own, that while I read it, (such is the gravity, 
propriety, and spirituality, with which he writes,) I seem to he 
rather perusing the charge of a brother long experienced in the 
ministry, than the letter of a child who was but looking to^ 
wards it. 

Speaking of the ministry, he says, *' I must acknowledge, 
that it was with great reluctance I was brought to comjily with 
the proposals which were made to me in this viev/, from a sense 
of the greatness and importance of the work, and of my own in- 
hufficiency for it ; which argument was strongly backed with 
frequent fears, lest I should not have had a work of grace 
wrought in my own heart, without which I saw an impossibility 
of becoming a faithful and successful minister ; and I doubt not, 
but you have had some apprehensions like these. But I would 
not have you, nor m^'self, overwhelmed with these discouraging 
thoughts ; since it is so delightful, so honourable a work, and 
has so great a tendency to the promotion of religion in the 

** It is true, this is an office which is attended with great 
difficulties, even such as would be too considerable for any mor- 
tal creature to encounter with, if he had not inward supports 
from Christ, the chief shepherd and bishop of souls. The great-? 
ness and difficulty of the ministerial work will evidently appear, 
if we consider, that whilst they are engaged in their office, they 
are personating even the great God himself, whose mouth they 
are to the people: The purposes they serve are high and God- 
like : And besides, what great!}' adds to the difficult}^ of it, is the 
opposition and discouragements Avhich attend the faithful dis- 
cliarge of this duty. The prince of this world is active by temp- 
tations, to divert, and discourage every one from engaging in 
this work, often suggesting what may pervert and mislead their 
minds in it. If allurements, terrors, or reproaches will avail, 
they are sure to be tried: For ministers are the butt, against 
which Satan by these instruments levels his sharpest darts, well 
knowing that the strongest batteries against his kingdom are 
placed there ; and therefore the most faithful are sure to be most 
assaulted. There are also our own indispositions, which render 
the work the harder. And besides all, there is a strict account 
to be given at the day of judgment, when the secrets of all 
hearts sliall be revealed, when we shall hear Christ saying with 
^n heart-impressing power. Give an account of your steward^ 
ship. He will demand an account of the souls he committed to 
our care, and th§ tru^t he reposed in us. There, if we be pro- 



ndiinced faithful servants, we shall accordingly receive the re- 
ward of such; but if unfaithful, the blood of others will be re- 
quired at our hands, and their misery will be an aggravation 
bf ours. 

" Now upon mature consideration of the great importance 
and difficult}' of the work, as it is of so great consequence, we 
may justly cry out, Who is sufficient /or these things? Hie La^ 
bor, hoc Opus : This is a work indeed. AVhat piety, what pru- 
dence, Avhat zeal, what cour.ige, what faithfulness, and what 
holy-watchfulness is necessary, to the right discharge of this so 
great an office ? The work is great ; our strength is small : Yea, 
of ourselves We have no strength at all ; but all our sufficiency 
is of God ; to him therefore must we go for it. Here is our 
comfort, and our hope ; It hath pleased the Father, that in 
Christ all fulness should dwell-; fulness of merit and righteous- 
ness, of strength and grace, even a grace that shall be sufficient 
for us. God himself hath said> that if any lack wisdom, they 
should ask it of him, iiho giveth to all liberally ; and he hath 
expressly added, it shall be given. Therefore let us make our 
application to him ; let us come with an holy boldness to the 
throne of grace, deeply impressed with a sense of our weakness 
and folly ; and thus let us ask wisdom, and then we need not 
fear being disappointed, but shall of his fulness receive, and 
grace for grace. 

** In vain may we have recourse to the most refined and 
polite parts of human learnings to qualify ourselves for this work : 
All human arts, and the whole circle of the sciences, will be un- 
able to furnish us for it, unless God, who first comynanded the 
light to shine dut of darkness, lay the foundation, in shining by 
his Spirit into our hearts, and displaying the invincible efficacy 
of his grace to work in us a true repentance and conversion 
never to be repented of. Not that I would have you neglect 
your studies, but use a double diligence in your earnest pursuit 
of them : Yet I write thus, that you may not rest in these, but 
be aspiring after more noble acquirements. Be very solicitous 
about the one thing needful, without which you can never ex- 
pect to become a faithful or successful minister of Christ's 

" My dear brother, I hope you will take in good part what 
I have here said ; and though you do not want advice and direc- 
tion in tliis affair from those that are with you, and are more 
capable of giving you better admonition than I, yet I hope you 
will have so much regard to me and yourself, as to bestow some 
time in reading over and considering these obvious thoughts, 


which I have spent a few minutes in drawing up, hoping that as 
they are continually of use to me, they may be so to you. 

*' You intimate, that your inclinations are rather to be of a 
trade. It is true, in such a station of life, you would not find so 
much difficulty as attends the ministry : But then you will not 
have such prospects of being useful in your day. What more 
noble or honourable employment than this ! Surely it may well 
be called a good work; a work of the greatest importance, and 
designed for the most extensive good ; since it is conversant 
about no lower concerns than the life and happiness of immortal 
souls, and is designed to display and illustrate God's free grace 
and mercy in bringing many sons to glory. Are the ways of 
wisdom pleasant? then ministers of all men enjoy most real, 
solid pleasure ; for they are always exercised in her ways, spend- 
ing themselves, and being spent in the service of their Lord, 
M'ho will not fail to reward them abundantly. Oh what plea- 
sure will arise in our minds, if God shall call us to this work, 
and succeed our labours in it, when we shall, in the midst of 
those toils, see many coming to own us as their spiritual fathers? 
These will he our Joy, and crown of rejoicing, in the day of the 
Lord Jesus i they will be as so many jewels in our diadem of 
glory. But then, Avhat still more unspeakable pleasure and 
satisfaction will arise in our souls, when we come in the near 
views of an eternal world ; that we can look back upon our past 
lives, and see that they were spent in the service of our Creator 
and Redeemer ; that his glory was our chief aim in all we did ; 
so that we can say, we fought a goodfght, we hsive finish- 
ed our course, and kept the faith ; and that what remains is, that 
there ts a crown of righteousness laid up for us, which the Lord 
the righteous Judge shall bestow upon us in that day?— Qui I 
must break off for this time ; yet not without recommending 
you to God; once more desiring, you would be earnest and con- 
stant in your addresses at the throne of grace, that we may both 
obtain mercy and grace to help in every time of need.'' 

It njay easily be imagined, that so lively a sense of piety in 
the heart of this good youth would be productive of such dis- 
courses and actions, as must naturally attract the observation 
and esteem of those around him ; and how modestly soever con- 
ducted, would be (as Solomon expresses it) like a perfume held 
in the hand, which the more closely it is grasped, discovers itself 
so much the sooner, bv the agreeable odours which it diffuses. 

He Avas soon informed of a society of private Christians, 
who met at stated times for religious discourse and prayer, (the 
first of those formed, and since so happily increased, in the place 



•where he then dwelt ;) and he was invited to enter himself a 
member of it. It consisted, as such societies oenerally, though 
blessed be God not always, do, of persons in lower ranks of 
lite: But it is edifying, as well as delightful to me, to observe, 
in what humble strains this 3'oung gentleman expresses his ad- 
miration of the goodness of God, and of the condescension of 
his friends, that he should have the honour of being admitted 
among them, of which he seems to have apprehended himself 
very unworthy. 

From this society he quickly passed to another, consisting 
only of senior students for the ministry, who used on the even- 
ing of the Lord's-day to visit neighbouring villages, and held 
private meetings for religious worship in some licensed houses 
there. Two of them generally went together ; a serious sermon 
on some uncontroverted and important subject of religion was 
repeated ; and one of them prayed before, and the other after 
it, Avith proper intervals of singing. This custom, still continu- 
ed, and extended to many other places, hath, I hope, been very 
useful, both in exercising the gifts of the students, and in abat- 
ing the prejudices which some have been ready to entertain 
against our ways of worship, as well as in spreading the know- 
ledge of divine things; not to mention the relief it has given to 
some, whose circumstances have confined tliem from opportuni- 
ties of attending, where they could have chosen to spend the 
sabbath. When the assembly was dismissed, a few serious peo- 
ple would often remain, to spend an hour or two more in con- 
ference and pra3^er with the persons who had been officiating ; 
and they who appeared under the first religious impressions, or 
under dejection of spirit, were encouraged to open their cases, 
and their hearts, at such times as these. 

It is not at ail to be wondered at, by those who consider 
what Christian experience is, and how it is to be learned, that 
those students, who entered into these exercises Avith the greatest 
spirit and zeal, have appeared to distinguished advantage under 
a public character. And accordingly I am well assured, that 
many large and flourishing congregations, in which (having been 
unanimously and affectionately chosen) they are now labouring 
Avith great acceptance and success, are blessing God, that they 
were thus formed for more extensive service, and that they learnt 
in such schools as these, what no academical lectures alone could 
have taught them with equal advantage. 

I will venture to say, that it Avould be well for the church 
of Christ, if all his ministers entered on the solemnities of their 

VOL. IV. K k 


ordination-day, with that deliberation, self-examination, and 
prayer, which Mr. SteflPe's papers shew him to have used, when 
he first gave up his name to this repeating society : But he knew 
the worth of souls, and the importance of men's devotional mo- 
ments ! May none, who do not in some measure know both, 
venture to meddle with them, lest it be to their own hurt ! 

Well did this prudent youth apprehend, how absurd it is 
for any to undertake to officiate in Christian assemblies, before 
they are entered into full communion ; and well did he consider, 
how great a duty and privilege it is, to commemorate the death 
of our great Lord at his table. Accordingly, in September 1734, 
some considerable time before he engaged in the society 1 last 
mentioned, he made his first approach to that ordinance, with 
the entire consent and approbation of the church, to whom he 
wrote an excellent letter on the occasion, which I would gladly 
insert, if I had convenient room to do it. But I cannot forbear 
transcribing a few of his reflections upon this head, in a letter 
which he wrote presently after ; because I hope it may animate 
young Christians to attend an important duty, which I fear they 
are too ready to neglect. 

" I did then," says he, (speaking of the preceding sab- 
bath,) " give myself up to God, and seal my covenant with him ; 
and it is with unspeakable pleasure that I look back on that 
solemn and awful transaction. I bless God, I can say, the day 
in which I made my first approach to the table of the Lord, was 
one of the best days, if not the very best, I ever lived. I then 
felt more sensible sorrow for sin, than I had ever done before. 
I was filled with admiration to think that I, who did not deserve 
to be set among the dogs of his flock, should have the honour of 
sitting among his children at his table. I hope, I had then some 
appropriating views of the blessed Jesus, and could call him my 
Saviour and my God ; could esteem him the chief among ten 
thousand, and altogether lovely. And while I was by faith feed- 
ing on him in this ordinanpe, unspeakable transports of grief 
and joy at once seized on my soul : Grief, when I looked up, 
and saw my bleeding dying Redeemer bearing my sins in his 
own body on the tree ; when I viewed him, as wounded for my 
transgressions, as bruised for mine iniquities, and enduring that 
chastisement which was the purchase of my peace : And pro- 
portionable joy, when I considered that my sins, though so great, 
and so many, and attended with such aggravated circumstances 
as gave them a scarlet and crimson dye, were all washed away 
in the over-flowing fountain of his precious blood. On the 
whole, I was enabled with delight to draw water out of this well 


of salvation, and could with great pleasure enlarge on this head: 
But must conclude with intreatlng your prayers for me, that 
having vowed unto the Lord, I may never go back; but consi- 
dering myself as bound by so many engagements, invited by so 
many encouragements, and obliged to God and godliness by so 
many tics of duty, interest, and gratitude, I may be running the 
Christian race with patience and alacrity, and continually adorn- 
ing that profession, Avhich I have in this ordinance so solemnly 

In consequence of a resolution, so solemnly recorded in this 
ordmance, and often renewed and sealed in returning approaches 
to it, our author continued in a calm, resolute, and diligent pro- 
secution of his studies, according to the plan laid down above ; 
still conducting himself in a prudent and cautious manner, so as 
to cut off occasion, even from those that sought it, if such there 
had been, to bring any reproach on the society he belonged to, 
and the denomination of Christians in whose interest he had 
chosen to embark. Nor do I from this time meet with any inci- 
dent relating to him, so remarkable as to require a particular 
notice, till August 1737, when it pleased God to remove his re- 
verend and worthy father, by a stroke which his family and the 
church will have long cause to lament. This providence occa- 
sioned two letters, which have been so very pleasing to me, and 
to some pious and judicious friends to whom I have communicat- 
ed them, that I cannot forbear inserting the greatest part of 
them here ; as I think they are both a very lively and beautiful 
image of filial piety in its most genuine workings ; and as the 
latter contains some such consolations on the death of friends, 
as the best of mankind in this dying world have, alas, frequent 
occasion to recollect. 

The former of these was directed to his mother ; but begins 
in this abrupt manner, without any appellation to mark the per- 
son for was particularly intended. 

*' Last night the most melancholy letter came to my hands 
that ever I received, and I am now sitting down to write an an- 
swer to it. But to whom shall I address myself ? and what shall 
I make the subject of my letter ? 

" Had I sufficient encouragement to hope, that my dear 
father could read it, or hear it read, I should not be long in de- 
termining whether I should direct a part of it to him. But the 
account I have had of his extreme illness discourages me fronj 
it : If he was a week ago so low and weak, as to be incapable 
of holding a pen to write a few lines to me, there is too too much 

Kk 2 


room to suspect, lest that disease, which inade his hands so fee- 
ble, should by this time have cast a mortal veil over his eyes, 
and stopped his ears, so that he can neither read, nor hear, what 
I write. Ob could I meet with some one that is able to resolve 
the question ! With what eagerness should I address myself to 
such a person, in the language, though not in the sentiments, of 
Joseph, Doth myjather yet live? But oh, with what fear and 
anxiety should I attend the answer? How should I fear, lest my 
present uncertainty should be changed into a melancholy cer- 
tainty; and that uneasy situation of mind, which between hope 
and fear concerning my father's life I am now in, should be suc- 
ceeded by the deepest sorrow from hearing. He does not live ! 

*' In the midst of such uncertainties, what shall I do? What 
course shall I take? Shall 1 venture to write to him ? Shall I tell 
him, that notwithstanding tiie prevalence of his disease, and his 
extreme weakness, I have yet great hope of his recovery ? Alas, 
there is little room for that. What hope can I have, when a 
physician, M^hose skill enables him to form a more certain judg- 
ment, than his tenderness and unwillingness to grieve will per- 
mit him to impart, does yet say. If he does recover, it will be a 
considerable time first ? Where is the strength to hold out a 
considerable time under such a disease ? Do the young and 
vigorous often fall a prey to a fever, after a few days, or a few 
hours struggle ? And can the aged and infirm grapple with, and 
conquer, so powerful an invader ? 

" Shall I then endeavour to administer some divine consola- 
tions to a dear parent, in the near views of death and eternity? 
Blessed be God, that I have so much reason to believe, this 
would be an unnecessary task, as I have good ground to hope, 
that that God whom he has served with so much faithfulness 
and constancy in his life, will not with-hold from him the com- 
forts of his Spirit in his death ; and that God concerning whom he 
has so often said in the time of health and prosperity, Whom 
have I in heaven but thee ? and there is rwne upon earth that I 
desire besides thee ; will be the strength of his heart now when 
his flesh and his heart fail him, and will be his portion for ever. 
I doubt not, that vital active principle of love to God, and de- 
light in him, which spread such a calm and serenity over his 
mind during life, will dart a cheerful ray to enlighten the dark, 
valley of the shadow of death. 

" Once more, shall I yet suppose him alive, and capable of 
reading or hearing my letter, though just on the brink of the 
graA'e, and almost panting out his last breath ? And shall I write 
to take my last solemn furewel of him, till we meet in eternity ? 


Oh how can I do that ? It is a task too melancholy for me; my 
heart even melts at such a thought. No, though I have too 
much reason to believe, that if my dear father does live, to see 
or hear this, it will be the last that he will see or hear from me, 
yet I will not,caiuiot write it as the last. However, my uncer- 
tainty about hull is so great, that I cannot prevail upon myself 
to address it immediately to him, too much afraid lest I should 
be writing to a pale corpse, instead of a living tender father. — 
In this dubious frame of mind, to thee. Oh my God, would I 
turn. I know, that thou livest, and wilt ever live: Thou art the 
great arbiter of life and death ; thou briiigest down to the bor- 
ders of the grave, and thou only canst say with a prevailing 
voice. Return. Let us join in saying, if there is yet room for 
prayer, do thou hear it on the behalf of thy servant : Do not so 
lay our sins to our charge, as to take away our father and 
husband: Oh spare him a little, that he may recover strength, 
&c. But if he is out of the reach of prayer, dispose us cheer- 
fully to acquiesce in this afflictive dispensation of thy wise Pro- 
vidence: Adored be thv name, that supposing this, we have so 
much reason to mingle our j^raises with our tears ; and though 
we should lament the loss of a most tender, valuable, and im- 
portant relative; yet we may rejoice to think, that we mourn 
not as those Avithout hope for him, to whom to live was Christ, 
and consequently to die must be gain. Amen." 

He then addresses his mother in a very tender strain, on a 
supposition that she might possibly be a mournful widow before 
this letter reached her: But as many of the considerations he 
there touches upon are more largely inserted in the consolatory 
address which next follows, I omit them, only here transcribing 
the following expressive lines. 

" Now is the time especially, to reflect upon God as your 
constant friend, and never-failing portion. Now is the time to 
recollect his many exceeding great and precious promises. 
Look back on former experiences, and draw encouragement 
from them: Look forward, and view that divine principle of 
grace implanted in your souls, by which you are united to God, 
and to Christ, in the bonds of an everlasting covenant. 

" This, my dear mother, may be a source of calm serenity, 
and even of joy and transport, in circumstances, which in other 
respects Mear the most gloomy aspect, And if you are tempted 
to entertain any anxious thoughts about those difBculties, which 
may attend us in our passage through life, now the channel 
through which the greatest part of its supports and enjoyments 
flowed down to us is dried up, let us remember, that the (;arth 


is the Lords, and the fulness thereof: And now the streams are 
cut off, let us rise to the fountahi of all good." 

This letter was dated the first of August, 1737, and his fa- 
ther died on the seventh ; so that according to the usual course 
of the post, it must, I suppose, come to hand, -while he was yet 
alive : And a pious and tender parent will judge perhaps better 
than any one can, what a noble consolation it must add to the 
last days and hours of his life, to hear such a letter from such a 
son. I question not but his generous mind w^ould rejoice for 
others, as well as himself ; not only thinking, what an ornament 
and support such a son might prove to the surviving branches of 
the family ; but also how useful his maturer age might be to 
the world, who was capable of administering such consolations 
to the afflicted, before he had yet gone through the studies of 
his 3'outh. 

A few days more brought our young friend the melancholy 
tidings, that his father was dead ; which occasioned the follow- 
ing letter, dated the 15th of August, 1737 ; which I doubt not, 
has also proved a very great support to the worthy person to 
whom it was addressed, when mourning over the remains of this 
dear son by whom it was Avritten ; who seems therein to have 
been providentially led to lay in, if I may so speak, a cordial 
against his own approaching funeral. If the reader be affected 
■with it, as I myself have been, there will be no need to make an 
a}K)logy for inserting it at large : And I am persuaded it must 
afford every believer of christianit}^ a secret triumph, to com- 
pare this epistle of a youth instructed in the gospel, with those 
of the most learned and celebrated philosophers of antiquity, 
and particularly of Seneca, TuUy, and his correspondent 
friends, on melancholy occasions, which bore some resemblance 
to that on which this was written. 

" My dear dear Mother , Aug. 15, 1737. 

" You may easily imagine with what sad surprise I received 
the last account from Wrentham. I have indeed been in an un- 
easy state of uncertainty ever since I left you : Yet the letter 
which I had a few days ago, written with your hand, and which 
gave me an account of my father's small revival, gave me 
"withal some comfortable hope of his recovery ; so that the inter- 
val between that and the last letter, was spent in some greater 
degree of cheerfulness, than I was willing to allow myself before. 
But oh, how soon was it turned into sorrow ! And I was lifted 
high in my hopes and expectations, only to be sunk the lower 
by that sad message which I received by the hand of my sister 


last Friday night. How did I tremble, when I saw the letter 1 
How many melancholy fears did my forboding heart suggest, 
even before I opened it ! But when it was opened, oh, what did 
I see ! Words that could not but cut me to the very heart, Our 
clear dear father is dead. Teai's prevented me from reading 
any further ; and the repetition of the cutting sentence calls up 
my tears afresh : You must give me leave then to weep awhile, 

and I will endeavour to proceed. ■ 

*' It will be painting too melancholy a scene, to tell 3^ou 
what a variety of gloomy thoughts passed tlirough my mind qn 
this occasion. No, I will not renew, or increase your sorrow, 
by aggravating the loss we have sustained, in the death of such 
an husband and father. But I would fain turn my thoughts to 
the brighter side, and by divine assistance endeavour to suggest 
such things as may be of use to reconcile us to this very heavy 
stroke of Providence, and to form us to such a suitable disposi- 
tion of mind, as that if any one should ask us, Is it well with thy 
husband ? Is it well with thy father ? Is it well with thee ? ■ 
We may even with a smile reply, it is well. 

" I omitted writing the last post, that I might have time 
to settle and compose my own mind, and consequently be the 
more capable of administering consolation to you, and others, 
who are intimately concerned in my dear father's death. Had 
I wrote immediately after the reception of my sister's letter, 
Avhile my mind was almost overwhelmed with sorrow, you might 
indeed have seen a sheet of paper filled with the most passionate 
expressions of tenderness and grief; but perhaps they would 
only have served to open your wounds afresh ; whereas my 
design in what I now write, is, if possible, to pour in balm to 
heal them. 

" Blessed be God, the storm that was first raised in my 
mind, has been by him commanded into a calm ; and the conso- 
lations of God have not been few, nor small to me on this occa- 
sion. And I am not without good hope, that if you are not yet 
brought to a settled composed state of mind, those considera- 
tions which religion suggests, and which have been the happy 
means of reviving my spirits, and introducing some considera- 
ble measure of tranquility into my mind, ma^^ answer the same 
end, and have the same effect upon you. 

" The dear, dear man has taken his final leave of us, with 
regard to this world ; and we cannot but mourn his departure. 
The desire of our eyes is taken from us ; and it would argue a 
stupid, insensible, savage temper, not to drop a tear, or feel any 
tender concern under so sad a stroke. The wise author of our 


nature did not place these melting emotions of soul, for no other 
purpose, but to be rooted out as weeds : And the noblest exam- 
ples of faith and holiness, courage and magnanimity, which are 
recorded in the Old and New Testament, are represented as 
dropping a tear upon such an occasion. Even the spotless 
Jesus wept over Lazarus. — But the greatest danger is, lest we 
abandon ourselves to immoderate sorrow, so to mourn as to re- 
fuse to be comforted. We are not, with Jacob, to resolve to 
go down to the grave mourning , because we are deprived of this, 
or that comfort of life. — That you, my dear, and now only 
parent, may not sink under the weight of your sorrow, let me 
lead your thoughts to the following reviving considerations. 

" Let us consider for our comfort, how long our dear rela* 
tire was continued to us. It is not the withering of a gourd, 
which sprung up in a vight, and perished in a night, whose 
friendly shade failed us when we had most need of it, that we 
now mourn. No, we lament the fall of a full-grown tree, un- 
der whose wide spreading shadow we have long rejoiced. Now 
in order to make this affliction sit the lighter, let us compare it 
with what it would have been, had he been taken from us at a time 
■when we his children had all been young, and unable ourselves 
to make our way through the world ; which we now all have a 
pretty fair prospect of doing with comfort, by the blessing of 
God, and the kindness of surviving friends. Is it not some alle- 
viation to our sorrow, to think lie lived to bring up his children 
in the nurture and admonition of the Lord ? And may I not add, 
to see the good effects of a religious education upon most of 
them ? 

** However it must be confessed, that the loss is great to 
us all : But then, let us not confine our thouc^hts so much to this 
mournful part of the subject, as to forget how great a gainer 
the dear departed spirit is by this separation from us. Let us 
lift up the eye of our faith to the invisible world, and take such 
a view of the happiness and glory of those who die in the Lord, 
as our imperfect state will allow ; and then let us say, whether 
there is any room to grieve and mourn on his behalf. Surely 
when we consider his present advantageous situation, from what 
lie is delivered, and what he now enjoys, we could not wish him 
back again without the greatest breach of friendship. Indeed, 
as others have well observed on the like occasion, we form a very 
wrong judgment of the condition of our departed friends, when 
because we see their breathless corpses laid m the ground to be- 
come food for worms, we are overwhelmed with grief, and bit- 
terly mourn over them. This is owing to our ignorance of their 


State ; as Jacob mourned over the rent garment of his son 
Joseph, and concluded he was devoured by some evil beast, when 
indeed he was gone to reign in Egypt. Oar dear relative is 
gone to reign in heaven ; and would we cling so fondly about 
him, as to pull him from his throne ? He is gone to possess a 
part of the land of Canaan above ; and can Ave wish him back, 
to struggle again with the difficulties of the wilderness ? Can we 
call ourselves his friends, and not rather rejoicein his happiness ? 

" This consideration, taken in conjunction with that which 
is drawn from his being removed from us by the hand of an all- 
wise and sovereign God, should be allowed to have a due influ- 
ence upon us, to bring us cordially to acquiesce in this dispen- 
sation of Providence. So that I may say to you, and myself, as 
the great Mr. Howe did to one in the like circumstances, If God 
be pleased, and his glorified creature pleased, who are we that 
we should be displeased ? Oh my dear mother, I have had such 
lively views of the happiness of the dear deceased, that if I have 
felt any sentiment of grief at that particular instant, it was 
because I was not in the Hke circumstances. 

" Another consideration which has been a means of quieting 
and composing my mind upon this occasion, and which I would 
recommend to you, is this, that though our dear relative is taken 
from us, yet our best friend is still continued to us. Let us re- 
member, that though our house be not so with God, as we could 
wish it to be, yet he has made with us an everlasting covaiant, 
ordered in all things, and sure. Therefore let us encourage 
ourselves in the Lord our God; and when creature comforts are 
like broken reeds, and broken cisterns, let us fix our depend- 
ance more and more on the rock of ages, and have more affec- 
tionate recoiH'se to the ovex{\o\\'\n^ foujttain of living waters. 
Let us reflect a little on what it was that rendered our departed 
relative so amiable and desirable to us ; and then let us further 
consider, Was not God the author of all ? And cannot he make 
up our loss abundantly ? I am persuaded, I need not tell one, 
"who has enjoyed so much communion with God, as you, 
Madam, have done, that Ave may hope and expect infinitely 
more from him as our covenant God, than from the most Avise, 
tender, and powerful friend upon earth : Let this stroke of 
Providence then engage us to Avalk closer Avith our God, to cen- 
tre in him as our portion and happiness, and to derive all our 
expectations from him. 

*' My dear mother, if the communicating to you my expe- 
rience on this melancholy occasion may be of any service to you, 
VOL. IV. L 1 


I will take the freedom here to assure you, that if ever I could 
call God my Father, with any considerable degree of filial joy 
and confidence, it has been since I have had no other, to whom 
I could apply that endearing title. — On this God and Father 
then let us cast all our cares and burdens ; cheerfully confiding 
in him, who has furnished us with the most powerful antidote 
against immoderate grief and anxiety in such circumstances as 
ours, by declaring himself a Father of the fatherless, and Judge 
of the widoxv, in his holy habitation'^. 

*^ But I must bv no means omit another thoucjht, so full of 
consolation upon this occasion ; that in a little time we shall be 
restored to this dear husband and father again, and meet, and 
converse with him, on terms of much greater advantage. 
Though the separation be grievous, yet it is but short. Our 
days and years are rolling away apace ; and every year and day 
brings us nearer to our home ; and so brings us nearer to the 
house of our heavenly Father, and to the mansions of glory, 
one of which is inhabited by that happy spirit, to which we so 
lately claimed a near relation, 

" Surely, my dear mother, when we consider, where he fs, 
and where we are ; we may abundantly satisfy ourselves with 
this consideration, so much more forcible in such a case, than 
in that to which it was applied, We shall go to him, though he 
shall not return to us.'''' 

I believe the reader will easily apprehend, that a person 
capable of writing in this manner upon such an occasion, was 
well qualified to compose for the pulpit ; and though his tutor 
did not see this letter, he had a very agreeable proof of it much 
about this time, (I think, the October,, or November following ;) 
when Mr. Stefi'e bore a part in the course of homilies, (as they 
were called, to distinguish them from sermons,) delivered in 
the lecture-room, upon the being and attributes of God, and 
the chief points of natural religion. The subject allotted to him 
was, the imitation of God's moral perfections ; And I cannot re- 
collect, that I ever heard a better academical discourse from any 
of the young students with whom I have been acquainted. It 
was finished with an accuracy, both of thought, and language, 
which would have engasred me to have added it to this collection 
of his remains, if I had found it amongst his papers. But as I 
did not, I only mention it to shew the reason upon which they 
acted, who out of regard to the necessity of several neighbouring 
congregations then destitute, advised him to offer himself to the 

* Psal. Ixviii. 5. 


examination of a committee of ministers deputed for that pur- 
pose, in order to his preaching in public. He past that exami- 
nation highly to their satisfaction, as they declared by a proper 
testimonial. And my illness engaged him to preach liis first 
sermon at Northampton, on the first of January, 1737-8. 

The subject of it was those words, JV/io am /, O Lord 
God? and what is yny house, that thou hast brought me hither- 
to'^ f As I have inserted it the first in this collection, which is 
now in the reader's hand, I need say nothing more to prove, that 
the general acceptance it met with was very well groimded ; and 
all I shall add concerning it, is, that I find in a blank page of the 
notes the following memorandum, dated April 16, 1738. " I 
have heard that this sermon was made peculiarly useful to seve- 
ral persons at Northampton, the first time of its being preached, 
and the first time of my preaching at all. Bless the Lord, O 
my soul, for the honour he has done to thy poor worthless 
attempts of service in this instance ! O may it be an happy 
sjiecimen of far more abundant success to attend my future la- 
bours in the ministry ! 

It Avas before the end of January this 3'ear, that the Reve- 
rend Mr. Stodden of Taunton, and the heads of the congrega- 
tion under his care, wanting an assistant, thought proper to 
apply to Mr. Steffe's tutor, who knowing the importance of that 
place, judged it convenient to send him thither as a candidate. 
His labours were universally acceptable to that numerous so- 
ciety ; insomuch that after having spent two or three sabbaths 
among them, he received an unanimous and pressing invitation 
to settle there, which nivitation, by the advice of all his friends, 
he accepted, only reserving to himself the liberty of continuing 
Avhere he was till his academical studies were completed, which 
they were by Midsummer, 1738. 

The last day, in which he appeared in the congregation to 
■which he had so long stood related, was the 4th of June, J 738, 
when he preached that excellent sermon with which this little 
collection concludes ; a day, which I cannot forbear mention- 
ing on two accounts : The one is, that it was the last in which J. 
ever enjoyed the pleasure of his labours and conversation, 
though he lived till that day two years : The other, that I find 
it was made, by the divine goodness, remarkably comfortable 
and refreshing to him. " This morning," says he, in a letter 
from which I must borrow a few lines, " I took my leave of the 

^ 2 Sam. vii. 18. 



pulpit here ; and have this afternoon been at the table of the 
Lord, reviewing -with a grateful surprise the various instances 
of the divine goodness to me ; especially in fixing me in this 
place, and making my abode here so comfortable and advan- 
tageous : I have now been renewing my covenant-engagements 
to my Father and my God ; and in this respect, I would not alter 
the thing that is gone out of my lips, or which has been ex- 
pressed in the secret language of my heart, I would not be 
excused from loving the great author of all my mercies ; I would 
not be discharged from his service, if I might. I Avould not 
wish for any thing to lessen my obligations to my dear Re- 
deemer, but for every thing to increase my sense of them." 
And then he goes on to express his tender sympathy to his mo- 
ther then under confinement by illness, and his longing desire, 
if it were the will of God, to share the entertainment of God's 
house and table with her, and to dwell with her again, though 
in the lowest circumstances : In which, I believe, he alluded to 
a scheme whicli he had, of bringing her to Taunton, which, 
had God spared his life, might have perhaps succeeded. 

What pleasure she had in an interview with him, and in 
attending his ministry in that visit Avhich he quickly after made 
her at Wrcntham, may be more easily imagined, than described. 
From thence he went to Taunton, and was very joyfully re- 
ceived by his worthy friend, the Reverend Mr. Stodden, and 
the whole congregation under his care. How he acted in this 
more public scene of life, I have not an opportunity particularly 
to say ; but am in the general fully satisfied, that he behaved 
in such a manner, as there was reason, from what we have al- 
ready seen of him, to hope and expect, and as entitled him to 
the affection and esteem of his valuable pastor, of the society 
to whom he preached, and also of many neighbouring congrega- 
tions, among whom he soon came to have an influence, far 
beyond what could have been imagined, considering his years, 

I think, I have before me all the sermons he composed dur- 
ing the two years he continued in this situation, which was all 
the remainder of his valuable life ; and they are so fairly writ- 
ten, and, so far as I can judge, so carefully finished, that lean- 
not but suppose, they had all, except the last, which was made 
when his illness began, been written out twice. They are every 
one of them, so fur as I can recollect, upon practical and im- 
portant subjects ; and if I may judge from what I have seen, they 
are such, both for method, thought, and language, that I should 
have found no difficulty in furnishing out several volumes of dis- 
courses, equal to most of these which are here published. I 


cannot find any one of them, in the review of which a wise and 
good man might not have had reason to rejoice on the borders 
of eternity: For all are calculated to promote a reverence for 
God. and love to him ; to convince men of their sin and misery 
by their apostacy ; to point out the only method of their re- 
covery, by faith in the righteousness and grace of the blessed 
Redeemer, and a sincere devotedness of soul to God through 
him; to awaken careless sinners, to re-animate slumbering Chris- 
tians, to encourage the weak and timorous ; and in a word, so far 
as was possible, in every discourse, to give to every one his por- 
tion of meat in due season : Nothing of that solemn pomp of pro- 
found reasoning, with which the dullest and emptiest discourses 
often abound; none of those affected and puerile ornaments, 
which make preaching the play of the imagination, and turn the 
church into a theatre : nothing arrogant, nothing petulant, no- 
thins censorious : nothinsr intended to kindle the unhallowed 
flames of party-zeal, and lead men either to judge, or despise 
their brethren: But all serious, spiritual, and candid; and, on 
the Avhole, such as became a preacher, who considered that his 
sermons were written in the Ijook of God's remembrance, and 
that he must shortly render an account to him, in whose name 
and presence he had the honour to speak. 

As he was well convinced that religious visits made a consi- 
derable part of the care of souls, he did not imagine, that his 
being only an assistant preacher could excuse him from it. He 
was willing to assist his honoured pastor in this, as well as pub- 
lic work : And as the congregation was so numerous, that he 
perceived he should be a long time going through it, he had his 
appointed times for visiting some of the poorer families, in 
which they used to call in their neighbours to share the happy 
opportunity ; and as pious instruction was the great end of these 
visits, they seldom or never concluded without prayer : A la- 
bour of love, in which he was greatly animated by the writings 
and example of the great and excellent Mr. Joseph Allen his 
predecessor ; to whose Alarm to the Unconverted, our author 
by the way acknowledges, he was under God indebted for some 
of the, first serious impressions that were made on his mjnd. 

In the mean time, his care of those with whom he was, did 
not lead him to forget his absent friends, especially the dear fa- 
mily at Wrentham, and that of his tutor. To the latter he wrote 
several letters, expressing the most lively and affectionate ac- 
knowledgment of the care which had been taken of him, though 
to be sure no niore than the duty of such an important trust had 



required. To his friends at home he always expressed the 
kindest regard, in a variety of instances which I must not here 
enumerate: Nor must I even insert that important letter which 
he wrote to one of his brethren, who was removed by death the 
winter after he came to Taunton. I must content myself Avith 
saying, that he shewed not only a pious care, but an admirable 
skill and dexterity in the manner of that address ; omitting no- 
thing that might tend, on the one hand, to awaken his mind, 
and to secure him from all presumptuous and mistaken hopes ; 
and on the other, to encourage him to lay hold on the grace of 
the gospel, in a manner that might be effectual to his eternal sal- 
vation. It is merely from the fear of extending these memoirs 
too far beyond their proper bounds, which I fear the}' have al- 
ready transgressed, that I refrain from inserting this letter at 
large. But I must with great pleasure add, that his pious care 
was so successful, that his brother died in such a truly Christian 
manner, as to leave in the mind of his surviving relatives a most 
cheerful hope, that God had shewn him the path of life. 

He carried on a very affectionate correspondence with se- 
veral of his fellow-students; in which he expressed thesincerest 
desire to maintain upon their minds a lively sense of religion, 
and an active zeal in the service of God. And in such offices 
of piety and friendship of various kinds, he continued till the 
close of his life. 

I remember, about the beginning of May, 1740, he Avrote 
me the last letter I ever received from him, indeed not quite a 
month before he died; in which he expressed himself to the 
following purpose. " The small-pox prevail much in Taunton, 
and carry off considerable numbers. My friends express a very 
tender obliging solicitude on my account ; and I endeavour to 
take all prudent precautions to avoid danger. But I bless God 
I find my spirits entirely calm, and composed, as to the event : I 
cheerfully commit myself to the all-wise and gracious disposal 
of my heavenly Father; and hope I have no uncertainty before 
me, but whether I shall be serving Christ in this world, or in a 

Thus prepared that illness found him, whicli ended in 
his death. On the first symptoms of it, he composed a very 
serious discourse on those words : He Jeedeth on ashes; a 
deceived heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver 
his soul, nor say , is there not a lie in my right-hand?'^ concern- 
ing the deceits which sinners practice on themselves, and those 

* Isa. xliv. 20, 


lies which they carry in their right-hands, to support a foolish 
and "dangerous hope. This was the last sermon he ever preach- 
ed; and had he hnished the whole of his plan, the reader would 
not have failed of the pleasure of perusing it. In the mean time 
I heartily pray, an impression of its important design may re- 
main on the hearts of all that heard it, and of all for whose 
benefit it was designed. 

When he fell ill, it evidently appeared, how much he was 
valued b}^ persons of all denominations, in that continued solici- 
tude which all that knew him expressed for his recovery ; as 
well as afterwards, in the universal lamentation occasioned by 
his death. He himself, though the symptoms soon appeared 
dangerous, maintained the same composure of mind, that he had 
expressed in the more distant prospect, through all the stages of 
his distemper ; in Avhich the exercise of his reason was continu- 
ed, though he did not die till the 22d day after he was seized. 
He gave very particular directions for the disposal of his affairs 
a fortnight before his death ; and was frequently, throughout the 
whole time of his illness, employed in earnest prayer as he lay 
in his bed, even beyond the strength of his nature: And as he 
was accustomed to use his voice, he M'as heard (by one of the 
family from whom I had this account) to express himself thus : 
" Oh Lord, preserve me in the use of my rational powers and 
faculties, that I may not only perform those things which are 
necessary to the health of my body, but may also be capable of 
conversing with thee, and of stretching my thoughts towards the 
heavenly world ;" and then, after a solemn pause, added, 
" where perhaps I may quickly be ! I had rather, if it might be 
for tliy glor}?^, continue longer in this world for the good of thy 
church; but if thou hast determined, this sickness shall end in 
death, thy will be done !" or words to that effect. 

Some physician, it seems, had unhappily told him, while 
he was very young, that if ever he had the small-pox, he would 
die. On the other hand, his friends did all they could to keep 
up his spirits, by expressing their hope of his recovery : He ac- 
knowledged their affection in it, and interpreted it as an instance 
of their respect ; but intimated his own apprehensions as to the 
issue, that it would be as it proved. He, on his part, expressed 
his tender regard for them, by pouring out earnest prayers to 
God, on their account, as well as on his own ; intermingling his 
prayers with his praises. And when he was desired not to spend 
himself so much, he answered, " As long as I have tongue, I 
will use it for my Redeemer's praise and service." 


These are the most remarkable circumstances of his ilhiess, 
which have been transmitted to me from a pious friend, in whose 
house he Hved. He calmly resigned up his soul to God, on 
Wednesday, June 4, 1740, having lately entered on the 25th 
year of his age. Not only the mourning habits, but the tears 
of vast numbers in that numerous congregation, in which his lot 
"Was cast, testified their sorrow for his death ; and we in these 
parts, as well as his friends in Suffolk, had a share, a large share 
in it. I am sure, no wise and pious reader will need to be told 
at large, that not only Taunton, but the wide neighbourhood 
around, had a loss in the removal of a person of such a charac- 
ter and abilities, and that it was a stroke long and deeply to be 

I cannot conclude without acknowledging the divine good- 
ness to my friends amongst whom he laboured, not only in still 
sparing their valuable pastor, but likewise in sending them from 
the same place another worthy and excellent assistant, the Rev. 
Mr. Benjamin Fawcett, if I am capable of judging, not on the 
whole inferior to Mr. Steffe. I should have esteemed his near 
neighbourhood an important blessing to these parts, and to me: 
But a sense of the importance of the interest at Taunton, and a 
compassion to my afflicted friends under that grievous loss they 
had sustained, inclined me to concur with all their measures for 
fixing him among them. May God multiply the years of his 
usefulness there, and make him an instrument of everlasting 
good to multitudes that are yet unborn ! 

Having said thus much of the author, it may be expected I 
should say something concerning these sermons; but I shall give 
no additional recommendation of them at all. My love to the 
person that wrote them may lead me to judge more favourably 
than they deserve: But the reader may be assured I had a good 
opinion of them, when I proposed the publication : A project, 
not contrived merely with a view of serving his sorrowful mo- 
ther, though if any advantage be made by them, it will be shar- 
ed, as it ought, between her and the printer, who runs the hazard 
of the edition ; but designed to prolong the usefulness of this 
dear and lamented youth beyond the narrow limits of his life. 
I did indeed think, that, considering his age, and considering 
also that they were composed in no view of publication, they 
would do some honour to his memory, and Avould meet with 
encouragement in various places where he w^as not personally 
tnown. But I especially depended on it, that those at Taunton, 
and in the neighbouring parts, who knew and loved him so well. 


as I am sure many hundreds there did, would read them with 
peculiar pleasure and improvement: And the happy disposition 
prevailino in the young persons of that congregation to which 
lie helonged, to associate themselves together for religious pur- 
poses, in hours when these sermons will give them a delightful 
employment, has further encouraged this hope. 

As to the particular reasons which determined me to chuse 
these discourses, and to omit others which some of his friends 
desired to see, it is not material to enter into them. I had not 
time to read all; and therefore took generally those, of which 
there was not a large number upon a single text, and those 
which had been most blessed to the good of souls; some of 
which I had heard myself, and had peculiarly struck my mind. 
What I have done in reviewing them, was but little. I have 
here and there added a clause, and very seldom, a sentence or 
two by way of illustration. I have also corrected the style a 
little in some places: Sometimes I have contracted a period, 
which seemed rather too diffuse ; and in one place abridged two 
sermons into one. But I have made no essential or very ma- 
terial alterations at all, either by way of omission or addition: 
And the greatest liberty I have taken with any, is used with re- 
spect to the last. That sermon I myself heard, and it impress- 
ed me exceedingly. I afterwards found, that it was the first plan 
of some discourses, branched out into a considerable number at 
Taunton. I could not pubhsh them all ; and I was so well 
pleased with what I had heard, that I could not persuade myself 
to omit it. I was therefore obliged to have recourse to those 
notes, which I had taken while he was preaching ; which were 
generally short hints of sentences, only setting down a few parti- 
cular expressions, the beauty and energy of which struck me 
with some peculiar pleasure. The consequence is, that here, 
though the whole scheme and almost all the thoughts are Mr. 
Steffe's, the language is often my own. I could much rather have 
given it to the world in the very words of the author : But as 
that was impossible ; and as on account of throwing two of those 
transcribed from his notes into one, we wanted another sermon 
to make up the number proposed ; I verily thought, I could not 
do better than to present it to the world as it is; at least with- 
out employing too much time in reviewing and comparing those 
few single sermons, which might have been considered as proper 
upon this occasion : And the great pleasure with which my 
friends had attended upon this sermon, and recollect in general 
the remembrance of it, engaged me to oblige thcin with this 
VOL. IV. Mm 


opportunity of reviewing it, for which I am sure of their 

Nothing further remains, but to commit these discourses to 
the attentive perusal of all into whose hands Providence may- 
bring them, especially of those to whom the author was dear by 
any peculiar bonds, and to the blessing of that God, with regard 
to whose honour, I am well satisfied, they were first composed, 
and are now published. 














Mm 2 



ROM Dr. Doddridge's life prefixed to the first volume of 
this edition of his works, as well as from the first editor's adver- 
tisement, it appears, that the author had bestowed upon these 
Lectures no small share of his time and attention, and that he 
designed to have them published. But Mhatever advantage 
ma}' be derived by a student, while engaged in the laboratory of 
investigation, from the mathematical form in which they were 
originally composed and afterwards published, it may be justly 
questioned whether this uncommon mode be not calculated, 
from an appearance of stiffness, to deter the greater number 
even of inquisitive readers from perusing them ; yd, to deviate 
much from the orignial aspect would frustrate, in some degree, 
the author's design, and, for that reason, prove to the judicious 
reader unsatisfactory. 

The method now adopted, it is hoped, Avill be found a just 
medium, in which are preserved the chief uses of the author's 
arrangement and terms, with as little offence as possible to the 
eye of a reader unaccustomed to such a page. All the references 
contained in the first edition are preserved ; but at the bottom 
of the page, as much more pleasant to the eye, and not less 
convenient. To these are now added many others, some of 
which are taken from Dr. Kippis's edition, in the form of notes. 

Though many important points of theology are discussed 
in these Lectures, the reader should not expect, -what was never 
intended by the author, a complete body of divinity. Of such 
publications there are many, truly excellent and comprehensive; 
among which we may venture to recommend the admirable 
work of Franciscus Turretinus entitled l7istitutio Theologiee 
Elencticte, and The Lectures of Dr. Thomas Ridgley on the 
Assembly's Larger Catechism, ijistar omnium. But the pre- 
sent work claims more originality of design, and used judiciously 
may answer a very valuable end. 

Were the present Editors to hazard a sentiment on the 
principal advantage that may be derived from this work, thejr 


■would say, that it should be considered as a book of reference y 
•>vhen investigating the history of opinions on Pneumatology, 
Ethics, and Divinity. We presume it is the most complete 
syllabus of controversial theology, in the largest sense of the 
term, ever published in the English language. Viewed in this 
light, the work should not be considered as useful to students 
almost exclusively, but inquisitive readers of every class may 
find no small advantage from them; and particularly that part 
■which treats of the evidences of revealed religion, a subject of 
the first importance at a time when infidelity dares to present its 
objections to society of every class. 

Some readers may feel a dislike to one term in parti- 
cular that frequently occurs in this course of Lectures; we mean, 
Demonstration, when placed at the head of a series oi probable 
arguments. We acknowledge that this objection is not with- 
out some force. In Avorks of natural philosophy we expect 
mathematical forms of demonstration ; but at the same time we 
expect the highest kind of evidence, which leaves the mind no 
room to object or hesitate. In moral philosophy, however, and 
many parts of Pneumatology and Theology discussed in this 
■work, probability is quite sufficient, and to require more is unrea- 
sonable. The term, therefore, as used sometimes in this work, 
by exciting too much expectation, tends to generate a propor- 
tionable disappointment. The distinction, indeed, between 
Solution and Demonstration has been preserved ; but this does 
not wholly remove the objection. When the proposition is 
laid, the reader should judge how far the particulars -which fol- 
low it are calculated to demonstrate^ except in cases -vA^here the 
evidence is remarkably strong. The evidence itself is precisely 
the same whether the term be used at the head of the series or 
not. When the arguments amount to a bare probability only 
in the reader's mind, a valuable end is answered ; whereas the 
same evidence proposed as a Demonstration would be met with 
prejudice, and reHected upon with dissatisfaction. For these 
reasons, were the editors to follow their own views of preference, 
the term itself would be omitted; yet, reflecting (hat the work 
has passed through three editions, they presume not to omit 
even this one Avord. The other terms, Axiomt Definition^ 
Scholium i Corollary ^ and Lemma ^ are not liable to the same 
objections. To Axiom no one can object, it being only a state- 
ment of a self-evident truth; to an accurate Definition no one 
ought to object, as every author has a right to shcAv in what 
sense he uses a term, or understands a proposition ; Scholia are 
only commentaries on subjects connected with the text or pro- 



position ; Corollaries only inferences from "vvhat is defined or 
proved; and Lemmas previous propositions assumed to prepare 
the way for higher evidence. 

The notes to this edition are more various and numerous 
than those in any of the former ones. Mr. Clark, the first 
editor, inserted very few ; Dr. Kippis's notes consist almost en- 
tirely of references to authors ; but the present edition includes 
a considerable number of these, some with new references, and 
several on controverted subjects of great importance. The 
notes contained in the last edition (which include those of the 
former ones) are marked by the initials of their authors respec- 
tively, Doddridge, Clark, Savage, and Kippis. For those 
which have the signature W, the present editors are responsible. 

It is presumed that, through the assistance and obliging- 
readiness of the Rev. Mr. Parry of Wymondley, theological 
tutor of that institution over which our author originally presid- 
ed, the present edition will have an advantage over all the 
former ones, by having many errors in the references corrected. 



In the life of Dr. Doddridge, prefixed to the seventh edition of his Fa- 
mily Expositor, it is observed, that in a future impression of the author's 
Course of Lectures it would be extremely useful to enlarge the list of refer- 
ences, by introducing the names and productions of those writers who have 
treated upon the several matters in question since the Doctor's decease. It is 
added, that to a person conversant in the history of controversies this would 
be no very difficult task; and that it migi)t, in particular, easily be executed 
by any gentleman who, as a tutor, has made use of the Lectures as a text 
book, and who consequently has been in the habit of referring to succeeding 

Though I do not completely answer to the whole of this description 
(having only been occasionally a reader on a few detached parts of Dr. 
Doddridge's Lectures) I was, nevertheless, readily induced to undertake the 
business suggested, from a consciousness of the utility of the design, and from 
the hope that I had so far attended to the progress of literature as to be in 
some degree qualified for the employment. At the same time, 1 entertained 
iio doubt of my being able to obtain assistance from the manuscript references 
of such tutors as had regularly gone through the Doctor's Course. In this 
respect I have happily succeeded. 

There is one thing which I wish particularly to be remembered, and 
that is, that it is no part of my design to give general illustrations of the sub- 
jects treated upon, or either to confirm or to gainsay the opinions of Dr. 
Doddridge. This would have been the creation of a new work. It is 
the business of individual tutors to enlarge upon the Lectures in that way which 
accords zvith their own sentiments. My sole aim is to mention, with freedom 
and iuipartialily, the writers on all sides of the different questions which are 
the objects of discussion, that thereby the mind of the student may be duly 
enlarged, and that he may be able, with the greater advantage, to prosecute 
-bis searches after truth. 



This work was originally drawn up for the use of the students under the 
author's care ; but it appears by a clause in his will, that it was his intention it 
should be published after his decease. And though it would, no doubt, iiave 
appeared to much greater advantage, if the author had prepared it himself for 
the press; yet it is htiped, that it will not be thought even in its present form 
unworthy of the put)lic view. 

The transcript from which it was printed, I have carefully compared 
with the original short hand copy ; and the public may be assured, that the 
author's sentiments have been every where scrupulously preser/ed ; no other 
alterations having been made, than such as are necessary in all posthumous 
works, that have not had the author's last hand. A few references have been 
added, particularly to some books published since the author's death, and 
others omitted, thatse(;nied less important, 

If the reader should think the references under the same head are some- 
times too much alike ; he will please to consider, that though the sentiments 
jn each may be nearly the same, yet the different manner of expression will 
often serve more fully to explain and illustrate the subject: besides, that one 
author may be at hand, when the other is not. 

In order to assist the reader in consulting particular passages referred to, 
the reference is always made to the chapter and section, where tiiat could be 
done; and as in many cases it could only be made to the page, an account is 
added at the end, of the editions, to which such references are made, (where 
the books could be procured) with the number of pages in the volume, which, 
by the rule of proportion, may be some direction to find the passage in any 
pther edition. 

As to the work itself, it may be proper to acquaint the public, that the 
mathematical form, into which it is thrown, was taken from a work of the 
same kind, in manuscript, drawn up in latin, by the author's tutor, the Reve- 
rend Mr. John Jennings, of Hinckley, from whom he has borrowed some 
of the propositions and demonstrations, especially in the former part. But he 
lias so much enlarged and improved upon the original plan, that the whole 
may properly be considered as a new work. 

As my regard to the author's memory, and my apprehension of the use- 
fulness of the work itself, led me to comply with the request of the author's 
widow, to inspect the publication of these Lectures, I thought it necessary to 
give this general account of what has been done in relation to them, for the 
ijatisfaction of the public ; and heartily \Yish they may subserve the cause of 
learning, religion, and moderation, 


J^irmingham, ''{an. 31, 1"63. 




Oftlte Poxuets and Faculties of the Human Mind, aitd the Instinct of Brutes. 

Prop. Lect. Sect. 

I. THE faculties of the human mind enumerated - - 2 17 

II. Analogy between the faculties of the human mind, and some 

phenomena in brutes - - - - - 3 1 

III. The dependence of the mind on the body shewn - 4 2 

IV. That the soul is seated in the brain - - - 5 4 

V. No innate ideas in the mind - - - - 6 2 

VI. No innate propositions - ^ - _ 7 1 

VII. The same external qualities may excite different ideas in different 
persons - - - - - 8 1 

VIII. The phsnomena of the human memory, with their solution 

upon the Cartesian hypothesis - - 8 7 

IX. The swiftness and slowness of the succession of ideas in the mind 10 2 

X. Instances and causes of the imperfection of the human knowledge 1 1 3 

XI. The question concerning personal identity discussed - 12 1 

XII. Whether men think always - - - 13 1 

XIII. A survey of the passions of the human mind - 14 1 

XIV. An inquiry into the original of the passions - - 15 1 

XV. Mental habits depend upon the memory - - 17 2 

XVI. The human mind possessed of liberty of choice - 19 1 

XVII. The philosophical liberty of the mind impaired - 21 1 

XVIII. Our knowledge of our own mind very imperfect ^ 22 1 


Of tlie Being of a God, and his natural PerfectionSi 

XIX* Something has existed from eternity - - 23 16 

XX. Some self-existent being has existed from eternity - 23 21 

XXI. The material world in its present form not eternal - 24 1 

XXII. Motion not essential to matter - - 27 2 

XXIII. Matter not self-existent - - - - 27 li 

XXIV. Thought cannot necessarily arise from matter - 28 3 

XXV. We are not ourselves self-existent beings - - 28 13 

XXVI. That self-existent being, from whom we are derived, is a spirit 28 23 

XXVII. The being of a God proved - - •• 29 3 

XXVIII. Arguments in proof of the same, of less force - 32 1 

XXIX. An account of the different sects of atheists amongst the 
Gfecian philosophers - - - - 33 1 

XXX. The divine eternity proved - - - • 34 1 

XXXI. The divine omnipotence proved - • 34 5 

N n 2 


























Prop. Lect. Sect,i 

XXXIi. The divine energy necessary for die continued existence 
and action of all creatures . . - 

XXXIII. Proof of the divine omniscience - 

XXXIV. Of the divine omnipresence - - 

XXXV. God's knowledge of future contingencies proved 

XXXVI. The wisdom of God proved - . ■ 

XXXVII. How far God is possessed of natural liberty considered 
, XXXVIII. That God is perfectly happy * '- 

XXXIX. The unity of God proved ^ - - 

XL. Space an abstract idea - . _ 

XLI. The immateriality of the divine being proved •» 

XLII. Arguments in proof of the divine infinity examined 
XLIII. Colliber's objections to the divine infinity considered 

Appendix ; Bishop Berkley's sclieme examined - - ■ — 


Of the Nature of moral Virtue in general, and the moral Attributes of God : Of 
the several branches oj ririue, Ztnd the Nature of Civil Government. 

Xr.TV. The holiness of God proved - - . 

XLV. The goodness of God proved - - - 

The controversy between Balguy, Bayes, and GrovCj concerning 
the spring of action in the Deity, examined, Schol. 6 — 9, 
XLVI. The divine nature incomprehensible * 

XL\^II. Human passions not to be ascribed to God 
XLVIII. The principal definitions of virtue, and the different ac- 
counts of its foundation, examined _ _ _ 
XLIX. The degree of virtue in any given action estimated 

A specimen of Dr. Hutcheson's mathematical calculation on this 
subject, Schol. 1. 
L. The principal branches of divine virtue enumerated 
LI. A general view of social virtue - - 

The question concerning disinterested benevolence considered in 
the Schol. - . . - . 

LIT. The lawfulness of killing brute animals for food maintained 
Llil. In what manner the parts and fruits of the earth should be di- 
vided in a state of nature - . .! 
LIV. Tlie obligation to truth shewn - _ .^ 
LV. That promises are to be fulfilled - _ . 
LVI. Perjury pro ved to be a heinous crime 

The case of subscribing articlesof religion considered, Scol. 1. 
LVIl. That mankind are to be propagated only by marriage 
LVIII. The principal duties of tiie marriage state enumerated 
LIX. Arguments againstpolygamy ... 

LX. Cases in which virtue prohibits marriage 
LXI. In what cases divorce is allowable 
LXII. Obligation of parents to take care of their children 
LXIII. The duty of children to their parents stated - 

LXIV. I'he advantages of a community above a state of nature 
LXV. Inquiry into the original of civil government 
LXVI. The patriarchal scheme of government proposed and confuted 
LXVII. That everv man is born in a state of freedom 

































— 1 

















































Pkop. Lect, Sect. 

LXVJII. Inquiry into the best form of government - 80 1 

LXIX. Tlie obligation to obey civil governors - • 81 1 

LXX. The cluties of masters and servants stated - - — 12 

The question concerning the right of making slaves, considered, 

Schol. 1. - - - - - — 16 

LXXI. The power of the magistrate to inflict capital punisliments 

vindicated ... _ _ 

LXXI I. That the laws of nations are to be regarded 
LXXIII. The lawfulness of war maintained - - 

LXXIV. Of government founded on conquest * 

LXXV. The chief branches of personal virtue enunierated - 
LXXVI. Means of promoting virtue in the soul 

Question concerning forms of prayer considered, Schol. 3. 
LXX\TI. The unlawfulness of inflicting civil penalties on religious 

accounts shewn _ _ - _ 

LXXVIII, The unlawfulness of self-murder represented 
LXXIX. The veracity and faithfulness of God proved 
LXXX. The justice of God proved _ - - 

LXXXI. The practice of virtue required by the natural law of God 
The question concerning the divine placability briefly considered, 

Schol. - - - - * — 17 


Of the Immortality and Minateriality of the Soul: its Original: the general 
obiigatioii to Virtue ; and the State of it in the World. 

LXXXII. A future state of retribution proved by various arguments 91 4 
The opinions of the ancient heathen philosophers on this subject 

considered, Schol. 1 - - - - — 8 

LXXXIII. Arguments in proof of the immateriahty of the soul 94 2 

LXXXIV. Whether the soul be extended - - 96 1 
LXXXV, The principal hypotheses concerning the origin of the 

human soul stated - - . - - 97 I 
LXXXVI, The probability of some created spirits superior to human 

souls shewn - - - - - 98 I 

LXXX VII. Thjit virtue is the interest of every individual - 99 1 

LXXXVIII. That virtue is beneficial to societies - 100 1 
The objection of the author of the Fable of the Bees, viz. that 

private vices are public benefits, considered in the Schol. — • 5 

LXXXI X. A general view of the state of virtue in the world — 12 


Of the Reason to expect and desire a Revelation ; and the internal and external 
Evidence zvith ivhich we maij suppose it should be attended. 

XC. Various definitions of miracles examihed - - - 

XCI. The possibility of a divine revelation shewed 
XCII. A divine revelation proved highly expedient and desirable 
XClll. That there is reason to hope for a divine revelation 
XCIV. That uncontrouled miracles prove the tfutli of a doctrine 
XCV. Of the internal evidence that may probably attend a divine 
revelation - - - • - 107 












"Prop, Lect. Sect^ 

XC VI. The reasonableness of positive institutions in religion shewn 108 3 
XCVII. Of the external evidence with which a divine revelation 

may probably be attended - - 109 1 

Objections to the method of preserving a revelation by 

written records considered in the Scholia - 110 1 &Ci 

The Genuineness and Credibility of the Old and New Testament vindicated. 

XCVIII, The antiquity of the Christian religion proved HI 1 

XCIX. That Jesus of Nazareth was thefounder of the Christian 

religion, and was crucified in the reign of Tiberius Cassar 112 1 
Josephus's testimony to Christ examined, Schol. 1 - — 12 &Ci 

C. Thatbooks were written by thefirst publishersof Christianity, 

bearing the same names with those of the New Testament 1 13 1 
CI. Testimonies of the most ancient ecclesiastical writers to 

the books of the New Testament - - - 114 1 

CII. The sense of antiquity concerning the a-vlkXiyoixivoi con- 
sidered - - - - - - 117 10 

cm. The genuineness of the New Testament proved - 118 1 
The various readings, and other objections considered, and 
the genuineness of the Apostolic constitutions disproved, 
in the Scholia - - - - - 119 1 &c< 

CIV. That the Jewish religion is of great antiquity, and that 

Moses was the founder of it, proved - - 120 1 

CV. That the books of the Old Testament were extant before 

Christ's time - - - - 121 1 

CVI. That the books of the Old Testament extant in Christ's 

time were genuine - - - - — 12 

The probability of a forgery in the reign of Josiah, the omis- 
sion of future rewards and punishments in the Pentateuch, 
with other objections examined in the Scholia - 122 1 &c. 

CVII. The genuineness of the Old Testament as now extant in 

the Hebrew, proved . . . _ J23 j 

The difference between the Septuagint and the Hebrew co- 
pies, with other objections, examined in the Scholia — 8 &c. 
CVIII. The credibility of the New Testament history proved 124 1 
Christ's not appearing to the Jews after his resurrection, his 
being rejected by the generality of that nation, the little 
regard paid to the christian miracles by the Gentiles, with 
other objections, examined in the Scholia - 125 1 &c. 
CIX. Testimonies from Heathen writers to the facts in the Old 

Testament . - _ _ 

ex. The credibility of the Old Testament history proved 
CXI. The prophecies of the Old Testament enumerated 
CXII. Prophecies relating to the Messiah 

The question concerning the double sense of prophecies con- 
sidered. Cor. 2. - . . 132 2 
The expectation of the Messiah among the Jews and Hea- 
thens, with the objection to the application of the fore- 
going prophecies to Christ, are treated of in the Scholia -^ 6 &c. 
CXIU. The credibility of Jesus as a divine teacher proved 133 1 










Prop, Lect. Sect. 

The miracles ascribed to Apollonius Tyanaeus, and some 

other Heathens, considered, Schol. 5,6 - 135 1 &c, 

CXIV. The doctrines of the New Testament proved to be true, 

and of divine authority - - - - 136 1 

CXV, Testimonies of the Fathers concerning the inspiration of 

the New Testament . - - - 13S 1 

CXVI. That the New Testament w^s written by a superin- 
tendent inspiration, proved - - - — 16 

CXVIT. The gifts and powers of the apostles treated of 1412 

CXVIII. That the Old Testament was written by a superin- 
tendent inspiration, proved - - H3 1 

CXIX. Passages in the Old Testament objected to as absurd, 

vindicated - - - - 144 1 

N. B. Under this proposition, the following subjects are con- 
sidered, viz. The Mosaic account of the creation, the fall, 
the deluge, Noah's ark, and the rainbow; the original of 
the blacks; the peopling of America; the confusion of 
tongues ; the early date of the Assyrian empire ; the num- 
ber of inhabitants in Canaan ; and the treasures laid up 
by David for building the temple. 

CXX. Pretended immoralities in the Old Testament history 

vindicated , > _ - - 147 I 

Here the following subjects are considered, viz, Abraham's 
sacrifice ; the Israelites' borrowing of the Egyptians; the 
destruction of the Canaanites ; the punishing of children 
lor the sins of their parents; God's hardening the heart 
of Pharaoh; the capital laws against idolatry ; the exe- 
cution of Saul's descendants ; the question whether hu- 
man sacrifices were appointed by the Mosaic law ; the 
putting a lying spirit into tlie mouth of Ahab's prophets ; 
the moral of the book of Job; the imprecations in the 
psalms; objections to the inspiration of the books of 
Esther and Canticles ; passages wliich convey unworthy 
notions of the Deity, and the character of some of the Old 
Testament saints. 

CXXI. I'he chief contradictions in scripture enumerated, with 

a general solution of them - - 149 11 

CXXII. Objections taken from the Jewish economy, stated and 

answered - - - - - 150 1 

Under this proposition, the ceremonies of the Mosaic law, 
the rite of circumcision, the institution of sacrifices, and 
the provision made for the priests, are considered. 

CXXIII. Objections to the inspiration of scripture, from the 
inaccuracy of stile and method, the obscurity of some 
parts and the trivial nature of others; from the persecu- 
tions occasioned by Christianity, from the general terms in 
■which the rules of morality arc expressed, and the imper- 
fect promulgation both of the Jewish and Christian 
religions - - - - -. I5II 

CXXIV. That the books of the Apocrypha were not written 

by inspiration - - - - 153 3 



Containing an Account of the Scripture Doctrine rdating to the Existence and 
Nature of God, and the Diiinity of the Son and Spirit, 

Prop. Lect. Sect. 

CXXV. That the scripture account of the nature, perfections, 

and providence of God is agreeable to the light of nature 154 1 

CXXVI. The pre-existence of Clirist proved - 155 I 

Appendix. That Christ was the person, by whom 
God appeared under the Old Testament, by the 
name of Jehovah - - - 157 1 

CXXVII. Scriptures enumerated, in which divine names, &c. 

are ascribed to Christ - - - 15S 1 

CXXVII I. The union of Christ's derived nature with God, 

proved - - - - 159 7 

CXXIX. Divine names, titles, &c. ascribed to the Holy Spirit 

in scripture - - - - 160 2 

CXXX. I'hat God is represented in scripture as manifesting 
himself by the distinct persons of Father, Son, and Holy 
Ghost - - - - - 161 I 

CXXXI. Opinions of the ancient fathers concerning the doc- 
trine of the trinity enumerated - - 162 1 

CXXXII. Principal opinions of the moderns on the same sub- 
ject briefly stated r •? - 1G3 J 


Oftlie Fall of Human Nature; and our Recovery bythemediatorialUndertaking 
of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

CXXXIII. That mankind is in a degenerate state, and that all 
men are sinners, proved - - - - 

CXXXIV. The scripture account of the fall stated 

CXXXV. That Adam's sin is in some degree imputed to his 
descendants _ . - - 

CXXXVI. That Christ has made satisfaction for the sins of all 
true penitents , _ - - - 

CXXXVII. Tiiat faith is required in the gospel as necessary to 
salvation - - - - 

CXXXVIII. A view of the controversy between Foster and 
Slebbing - - - - - 

CXXXIX. That faith and obedience are produced by the 
operation of divine grace upon the soul 

CXL. The question concerning the saints' perseverance ex- 
amined ------ 

The doctrine of perfection, of the assurance of salvation, and 
extraordinary divine influences on the mind, treated of 
Schol. 5—7. - - - - - ISl 5 &:c. 

CXLI. Inquiry into the scripture doctrine of the unpardon- 
able sin ----- 133 1 

CXLII. Thescripture doctrine of predestination unto lite stated 184 4 

CXLI If. The tenor of the covenant of redemption explained 185 3 

CXLIV. Thescripture doctrine of Christ's intercession stated 18G 1 

















A S art ey nf the chief Duties required in the Gospel; and 7nore pnrtiailarly of 
its positive Institutions; in which the Doctrine of the Christina Sabbath, t/ie 
Sacraments, and the Constitution of the Church are particularly considered. 

Prop. Lect. Sect. 

CXLV. The constitution of the covenant of grace explained 1 88 5 
CXLVl. Tlie principal heads of christian duty enumerated 1S9 1 
Under this proposition the christian doctrine concerning 
polygamy, divorce, the use of oaths, obedience to gover- 
liors, &c. is considered in the Scholia • - — Q &c, 

CXLVII. That the precepts in the New Testament remain in 
force, no longer than the reasons on which they are founded 
continue .--.-. 292 1 

Under this head the prohibition of eating blood is considered, 
Schol. 1. - . _ . , __ g ^c. 

CXLVIIl, The means of virtue recommended in scripture 

enumerated , , - , _ 193 j 

The question concerning liturgies is handled, Schol. 3 & 4 194 3 &c, 
CXLIX. A survey of the officers appointed by Christ in his 

church ------- 195 6 

CL. The arguments In defence of Diocesan episcopacy ex- 
amined • - - - - - \$Q I 

CM. The obligation to observe the Christian sabbath proved 198 1 
CLII. That baptism is an institution of Christ - - 200 2 

The question concerning the continuance of water-baptism, 
and baptizing those descended from Christians, considered, 
Schol. 1,2. - - - - • 201 1 &c, 

CLIII. Inquiry into the mode -of baptism - • 203 1 

CLIV. A view of the arguments for and against infant-baptism 203 1 
CLV. The nature and obligation of the Lord's supper stated 206 1 
The question concerning infant communion examined, 

Schol. 5. . . - - , 207 9 

CLVI. That the Mosaic l^w is not obligatory on Christians 209 5 


Containing the Scripture Doctrine of good and bad Angels, and of a future State, 
including the Doctrine of the Resurrection, with the most remarkable, Events 
to precede or attend it, 

CLVII. That the scripture asserts the existence of created spirits 
superior to men, called angels, some of whom are holy and 
happy, and others wicked and miserable - - 210 1 

CTVI 1 1. The chief properties of good angels enumerated 211 1 

CLIX. The chief properties of wicked angels - - —'11 

CLX. Inquiry how far good angels are concerned in human 

afilairs ..,,.. 212 1 

CLXI. Instances in -which evil spirits interfere in human affairs 

enumerated _ , , - , 213 4 

The question concerning the daimoniacs in scripture, the hea- 
then oracles, and magical operations examined in the 
Scholia - - . - , o 214 1 ^^^ 



Prop. Lf.ct. Sect. 

CLXIl. The scripture account of vvliat shall pass at the end of 

the world ----- 216 1 

Under this proposition, amongst other questions, the follow- 
ing are treated of, viz. Whether the doctrine of a future 
state was revealed in the Old Testament; How far the re- 
surrection-body will be the same that was laid in the grave: 
What will be the place of the blessed and the damned after 
the resurrection: Whether in the intermediate state the 
soul will be insensible or not: Whether there will not be 
different degrees of future happiness: The popish doo- 
trines of purgatory and prayers for the dead ihcwn to be 
unscriptural. V'id. Scholia. - - - — 9 Sec. 

CLXIII. The arguments for and against the eternity of future 

punishments considered - - - 221 1 

l^he hypothesis of an universal restoration considered, Schol. 3. 224 1 
CLXIV. The scripture doctrine of the general conflagration 

stated -,-... — 3 

Various hypotheses of learned men as to the causes of this con- 
flagration, and the circumstances attending it, may be seen 
in the Scholia . - . . . — g &c. 

CLXV, The supposition of a renovation of the earth examined 226 I 
I'he doctrine of the Millenium, with the different schemes 
concerning it, represented in the Scholia - — 7 

Cl-XVI. A view of the chief prophecies relating to the conver- 
sion of the Jews, and its consequences to the Gentile world 228 1 
The question concerning the time of the rise of Anti christ, 

the number of the beast, &c. considered, Schol. 7. — 12 

CLXVII. A survey of Mr. Lowman's scheme for interpreting 

the book of the Revelations ... oog j 

C'LXVlH. A view of the internal evidence with which Chris- 
tianity is attended - , . . 230 1 


Dnr. Subject. Lect. Sect. ] 

Di'F. Subject LEtT. Sect. 

I. An idea 


'•^ i 

XLIII, A lie . 



II. A beinji 


4 1 

XLIV. A promise 



III. The properties of a being 


6 i 

XLV. A covenant 



IV. Body 



XLVI. An oath 



V. Spirit 



XLV 1 1. Pel jury 



VI. Natural i)hilosopliy 



XLVIH. Maniage . 



VII. P)ieuuiatolos;y . 


XLIX. Concubinage 



VIII. Ethics .' . 



L. A community 



IX. Tiie human mind 



LI. A state of nature 



X. Action 



LI I. A law 



XI. Agent and patient 



LI II. The supreme civil power 



Xn. Natural good and evil 



LIV. The principal kinds of go- 

XIII. Tlie faculties of a being 






XIV. A man's own' bwly . 



LV. Civil and municipal laws 



XV. The seat of the soul 



LVI, Laws of nations 



XVI. An innate idea or pro- 







LVIII. Public and private war 



XVII. Time . 



LIX. Justice in a governor 



XVIII. Priinary-and secondary 

LX. Repentance 






LXI. Law of nature, and the 

XIX. Instmct 



natural laws of God 



XX, Mental habit . 



LXII. The lioht of nature . 



XXI. The perfections of a being 



LXIII. The death of the man 



XXII. Natural liberty 



LXIV. The death of the mmd 



XXni. External liberty . 



LXV. When the miotl may be said 

XXIV. Philosophical liberty 



to be corporeal, explained 



X.W. Moral freedom 



LXVI. Theology 



XXVI. Complete liberty . 



LXVII. A miracle 



XXV^II. A self-existent being 



LXVIII. A divine revelation 



XXVIII. Simply inlinite and 

LXIX. An uncontro\ded miracle 105 


inlinitc secundum quid 



LXX. Internal ayd external 

XXIX. An essential quality 



e\idence . , 



XXX. God . . , 



LXXI. Pofiitive institutions 



XXXI. Proofs a priori and a 

LXXII. Divine inspiration 



posteriori . , 



LXXIII. Inspiration of superin- 

XXXII. The presence of a spirit 

teridency . 



in a plaee . , 



LXX IV. Plenary supennten- 

XXXIII. A contingent event 



dent inspiration 



XXXIV. Speculative and prac- 

LXXV. Inspiration of eleva- 

tical wisdom 






XXXV. Place of a body . 



LXXVI. Inspiration of sugges- 

XXXVI. Moral fitness and un- 

tion . . . 






LXXV II. Supernatural gifts and 

XXXVII. Obligation in reason 




aj)d interest 



LXXVI II. The books of the 

XXXV III. Moral rectitude or 




virtue .... 


LXXIX. "Person . 



XXXIX. Holiness . 



LXXX. Imputation of one per- 

XL. Perfect goodness 



son's actions or sufferings to 

XI.I. Divine, social, and per- 




sonal virtues 



j LXXXL A satisfaction oratone- 

XLII. Ethical and logical truth 




; mcnt . . 
o 2 





Def. Subject. Lect. Sect. 

LXXXII. Faith in Christ 171 1 

LXXXIII. Cxrace . . 175 1 

IXXXIV. Special grace — 3 

LXXXV. Common and pre- 
paratory grace . . -^5 

LXXXVJ. A state of salva- 
tion .... 17S 7 

LXXXVII. Perseverance of 

saints ... — 8 

LXXXVIII. Predestination 184 1 

Def. Subject. Lect. 

LXXXIX. The covenant of re- 
demption . . i 185 
XC. The covenant of grace 188 
XC[. The covenant of works — 
XCII. The church of Chri^t 195 
XCIII. Divine right of Diocesan 

episcopacy . . — 

XClV. Sf uls of the covenant 200 
XCV. A sacrament . 208 

XCVI. A type . . 209 







1. Existence; the idea gained 
by consciousness and obser- 

If. Thought ; the idea gained 
by reflection 

III. That men have not one 

IV. Volition; the idea gained 
by reflection 

V. Power active and passive, 
the idea how obtained . 

VI. Succession, how the idea 
of it is obtamed 

VIF. Duration J the idea how 

VII (. Some degree of desire 

necessary to action 

IX. Nothing can of itself arise 

X. A being must be at least 



Ax. Subject. Lect. 

equally excellent with thebe- 
ing produced by it . 2S 1 

Xf. Space, in what manner we 

sjet the idea . . 45 I 

XII. Two borlies cannot be in 
the same place at the same 

time .... 47 ! 

XIII. The differences and rela- 
tions of Ihnigs, how we ac- 
quire the idea . . 55 1 

XIV. Actions are fit or unfit — 2 

XV. How the mind judges of 
the beauty or turpitude of 

moral actions . , — 1 

XVI. Tlie moral turpitude of 
any being proportioned to his 
knowledge and freedom from 
temptation . . . S-t 3 

XVI I . That gratitude is due for 
favours received . . 15 1 


XT may be not improper^in the entrance of this work, to give some general 
account of the plan of it, and some directions for studying it in the most use- 
ful manner. 

Tl>e work itself, contains an abstract of the most important and useful 
thoughts I have any where met with, on the chief subjects which can be sup- 
posed to come under consideration, in the review of Pneumatology, Ethics, 
and Divinity. And as these sciences do insensibly run into each other, I 
judged it not proper to treat of each separately, and so to divide the whole 
into three distinct parts, tlie first Pneumatological, the second Ethical, and 
the third Theological ; but have chosen to consider them in such a connect- 
ed view, as might convey to the mind, with the greatest ease and advantage, 
the principal truths relating to each. The whole work is divided, therefore, 
into ten parts, and contains in all 230 Lectures. The first part, (Lect. 1 — ti'2.) 
considers the powers and faculties of tlie human mind. — The second, (Lect. 
23 — 51.) the being of a God, and his natural perfections. — The third, (Lect. 
52 — 90.) treats of the nature of moral virtue in general, and of the moral at- 
tributes of the Deity: of the several branches of virtue, and the nature of 
civil government. — 'Ihe fourth (Lect. D\ — 100.) of the immortality and im- 
materiality of the human soul, with its original ; as also our general obliga- 
tion to virtue, and the state of it in the Aorld. — ^The fifth (Lect. 101 — 110.) 
considers the reason to desire and expect a revelation, and the external and 
internal evidence with which we may suppose it should be attended.- — The 
sixth (Lect. 1 1 1 — 153.) asserts and vindicates the genuineness, credibility, and 
inspiration of the Old and New '1 estament. — The seventh (Lect. 151 — 163.) 
contains an account of the scripture doctrine, relating to the existence and 
nature of God, and the divinity of the Sonand Spirit. — ^^fhe eighth (Lect. 
164 — 187.) treats of the fall of human nature, and our recovery by the media- 
torial undertaking of our Lord Jesus Christ, with the nature of faith in him, 
and of the covenant of grace established through him. So that the doctrine 
of Christ's atonement, and the Spirit's influences are also comprehended in 
this part. — ^The ninth (Lect. 188 — 209.) is a survey of the chief duties which 
the gospel requires; and more particularly of the positive institutions; in 
which the doctrine of the Christian sabbath, the sacraments, and the constitu- 
tion ofthechurcJ) are considered. — The tenth and last part, (Lect. 210 — 230.) 
contains the scripture doctrine of angels, and of the future state, including the 
resurrection, and the most remarkable events to precede or attend it. 

These are the great subjects of the work, and I believe the very men- 
tion of them is sufficient to shew, how important a part of an academical course 
it must make, and how much it must be the concern of every prudent and 
judicious student to give it a large sliare of his application. 

For the more profitable studying this course of lectures, it will be advis- 
able, that, as soon as possible after the lecture has been given, it be carefully 
reviewed, and the chief references read and contracted. But in contracting 

* This introduction is to be considered a$ the author's address to his own 
pupils, wlien tln!j' entcrtjd upon this course of Lectures, which will shew the propriety 
of some of the directions, which uiigUt othervvise appear too particular aud 
minute. C. 



them, it will be unnecessary to transcribe those passage^;, the substance of 
■which is already inserted in the lecturs: it will be sufficient to take some 
general hints of their contents ; and to transcribe only those parts, which are 
very peculiar and observable. And here some distinction is to be ni-ide be- 
tween those books, which may very probably be always at hand in reviewing 
the lectures, and those which may not so probably be within your reach. 

A diligent attendance on the course will, I hope, be both a pleasure and 
improvement: yet I v.ould advise evei'y pupil, if he can, to go over it twice; 
for though the subjects themselves, at the second review, will want the ad- 
vantage of novelty, yet more thoughts will ot'ten arise in lecturing, and the 
whole will be made more familiar to the mind: besides, that the student will 
by this means have an opportunity of reading and studying some things, 
which accidental causes might have obliged him before to pass over without 
due attention. — And for this purpose, it may be very convenient to keep a 
catalogue of those lectures, which by absence, illness, or any other accidental 
circumstance, were not studied so carefully as might be wished ; as likewise 
of those things, which did not, in the course of lecturing, appear solved and 
explained in a satisfactory manner. And if any difficulties arise, which seem 
peculiar, let them be drawn out in writing, to be lodged in the tutor's hands, 
or made the subject of a thesis, to be canvassed at large. In the mean time, 
full liberty will be given to make any objection or inquiry, from time to time, 
w liich will be examined in the hours of lecture, so far as the limits of time and 
other employments will allow. 

Yet lei it be remembered, that the student is supposed to be already 
acquainted with many things here brought into question. It would be a most 
fatal mistake, to act as if nothing were known of God and Christ, till the 
chief doctrines relating to both come to be examined in this course. Many 
small treatises, which may be read in a few hours, contain evidence enough, 
both of the being of a God, and the truth of the Christian religion, to satisfy 
an upright mind : though it may be convenient, that those who are to be the 
teachers and guardians of these truths, or those who may be exposed to pe- 
culiar temptations to doubt or di>believe them, should be acquainted with 
their evidence in a larger extent. Let the great vital truths of Christianity 
taught in scripture be constantly regarded. As to matters of controversy, let 
them be referred to their proper place, without any eagerness to anticipate 
them ; which often produces great bigotry and error, as well as a neglect of 
wiiat is proposed to nnmediate inquiry. And may it never be forgotten, that 
matters of abstruse speculation and laborious inquiry, are not, even to Tlieolo-' 
gical students, the one thine; needful, though they may be important in sub- 
ordination to it. 

I would remind you, dear Sir, whoever you are, that are going over 
these lectures, tiiat you may enter into eternity long before you can have 
attended, or even transciibed them: and therefore, I would beseech and 
rharge you, by all your hopes and prospects there, that it be your daily and 
governing care, after having solemnly devoted your soul to" God through 
Christ in the bonds of the Christian covenant, to live like his servant, to keep 
yourself in the love of God, and to endeavour in all things to adorn his gospel. 
So will you be most likely to succeed in your inquiries, through the com- 
munication of light from the great Father of lights: and so will you be pre- 
pared for the infinitely nobler discoveries, enjoyments, and services of the 
future state; even though you should be deprived of the residue of your days 
here, and cut short, as many of your brethren have been, in the intended 
studies and labours of this course. 




Parts First and Second, on Pneumatology. 




Axioms and Dejinitiom — Existence — Idea — Being — Proper- 
ties — Body — Thought — Spirit — Natural Philosophy — Pncu- 
matologij — Eth ics. 

§ 1. Ax. JlliXISTENCE is a simple idea, which we get both 
by consciousness and observation *. 

§ 2. Def. Whatever our thoughts are immediately employed 
about, whether as simply perceiving it, or as asserting or deny- 
ing any thing concerning it, is called an idea *. 

§ 3. Schol. The definition more frequently given is, that an 
idea is the representation of a thing in the mind, which the mind 
immediately perceives ; and the thing itself supposed to exist 
without our thoughts is called the archetype of the idea. But 
we do not yet choose to assert or deny any thing conqeniing the 
external existence of such supposed archetypes, and for this 
reason have not thought it so proper to use this definition. 

§ 4. Def, Whatever exists is called a being. 

aLocKE'sEss. l.ii.}7.1. iv, cix. 5 3. I GaoVE's Postli. Works, vol. iv. p. 3, 4. 

iJURNET at Boyle's Lect. vol. i. p. a. 3. I 

* This definition of idea is attended with some inconvenience ; as it confounds 
ennsciou.moss, niental notions, and the representation of a thing in the mind, which lust 
is generall\' and very properly called an idea. The author, however, had a nght 
to use it in the iCuse here usccrtaiucd, though hi» reason for it may be (lucstio-ned. W. 



Part i. 

§ 5. Schol. We do not here enter largely into the distinc- 
tion which the metaphysicians make between Ens reale, which 
exists without any dependence upon our thoughts, and Ens ra~ 
tionis, which orvves its existence to its being the object of them ; 
nor into the question between the Realists and the Nominalists* ; 
but by Being m the process of this discourse we mean Ens reale '. 

§ 6. I)ef. Whatever is contained in the adequate idea of 
any being, is called its properties. 

§ 7. Cor. 1 . A being is the same with all its properties taken 
together. And therefore 

§ 8. 2. We can have no conception of an}- substance distinct 
from all the propeities of the being in M-hicli they inhere ; for 
this would imply that the being itself inheres, and so on to in- 
finity ^ 

§ 9. Def. Body is an extended solid being'. 

§ 10. j'lx. Thought is a simple idea Avhich we get by re- 
flecting on what passes in our own minds'*. 

§ 1 1. Def. Spirit is a thinking being, or a being which has 
the power of thought «. 

§ 1 2. Cor. 1 . We have as clear an idea of spii'it as we have 
of body ; the essential properties of each being equally known, 
and the inward constitution equally unknown ^ 

$ 13. 2. We are at least as certain of the existence of spi- 
rit as of body ; the former we know by consciousness, which is 
always infallible > the other by tiie senses, which may be mis- 
taken e. 

§ \'i. Schol. \ . The Cartesians xhowghi that those primary and 
essential properties of body and spirit, mentioned § 9, 11, of 
this Led. were the respective substances from whence all their 
other properties flow : and Dr. Watts maintains the same opi- 

a Watts '5 Ontology, c. xri. 

Watts's Logic, p. 27, 23. 
b jENNlSGS's Lo;ic, Def. 15. 

LucKE's Ess. 1. i.c iv. { 18. ib. I. ii. c. Jtiii. { 19, 
20. ib. c. xx:ii. §2, 'J, 6. 

Watis's Philos. Ess. ii. J 1. 
c Gravesesd's Phys. 1. ii- c. iu. J 9, 12, IS. 

Le Cleuc's Phys. 1. V. c. iii. ? 1—3. 

Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. iv. 
d Camb. sur. I'Exist. p. 277, 278. 

CROUZAZ'i tog. vol. i. p. 10. 
e LuCKE's Ess. 1. ii. c. xxiii. { 18. 
f iOCXE's Ess. 1. u. c. xxiii. ? 13. 

Proced. ot Understand, p. 74 — 78. 
g Des-Cartes's Princ. parr i. J 7 and 11. 

X-OCKE's Ess. 1. ii. c. xxiii. {31. 

* The Realists, the chief of whom among the school divines were OudaRd, 
Albertus Magnus, Scotus, and Aquinas, maintained that unkersals and at least 
some mmles have a real existence. The Nominalists, at the head of whom were JoH>f 
the Sophist, Robert of Paris, Roselin, Arnoul, and especially Ocham, held on 
the contrary that universals and modes had not a real, but only a nominal existence ; 
and that nam>s not realities were the proper objects of logical and metaphysical dis- 
quisitions. For farther information see Dr. Enfield's History of Philosophy, Dr. 
Rees's Cyclopaedia, EucyclopcEJia Britannica, and other works. \\ . 

Lect. I. Axioms and Definitions, Existence, S(c. 301 

nion ; urging that they agree with the received deHn'tion of 
substance, as they support the accidents of figure, size, colour, 
i*^c. in bodies, and doubting, fearing, willing, &c. in spirit ; and 
both subsist independently on human power. He farther ]3leads, 
that we have no idea of the support of these properties, and 
that if these be destroyed, nothing will remain * \ 

§ 15. 2. A power of communicating motion by Impulse is 
improperly mentioned by Mr. Locke among the essential pro- 
perties of body, and that of moving body by Volition among 
those of spirit f ^. 

§ 16. Def. Natural philosophy is that ])ranch of learning 
which relates to hodt/, giving an account of its various pheno- 
mena, and the principles on which the solution of them depends. 
^ 17. Def. Pneumatology is the doctrine of spirits, or 
that branch of science wuich relates to them. 

§ 18. Def. Ethics is that branch of learning bv which our 
faculties are directed to that manner of acting, l)y which wc may 
obtain the highest happiness, i. e. the supreme enjoyment of 
which our natures are capable. 


Of the Human Mind — Consciousness — Volition — Action — Agent 
— Patient — Natural Good— Natural Evil — Power — Ea- 

§ I. Def. JL HE HUMAN MIND is that in or of a man which 

§ 2. Cor. The human mind is a spirit. Comp. Led. i. § 11 . 

§ 3. Schol. Des-Cartes in his definition calls it '* a think- 
ing, incorporeal, inextended substance, which shall survive the 
body to which it is united, and with which it was immedi- 
ately created by God, in order to form a perfect man." It 
is evident that on this definition it will be matter of much 

aDES-CAm'ES, Princ. part. i. JS^. I h Loctcr I. li. c. xxiii. § 17, »8. 

WaTis's Ess.ii. |irxseit,J'2, 3. | c U a r rs's Ess. ii. p. 59. 

* This opinion, strenuously maii»tainod by Des-Cartes and Watts is now 
pretty n;<.'nor;illy, if not universally rt'Ci«ived, \V. 

f TiiCbt; are accidental, iatli(;r than essential properties of body and of spi- 
rit. W. 

VOL. IV. P p 


controversy whether man has a mind or not *. Yet he defines 
It something otherwise in his principles ^ 

§ 4. ^x. It is evident that men have not one common con- 

§ 5. Cor. Every one has a mind pecnliar to himself*. 

§ 6. J.V. Volition is a simple idea which we get by re- 

§ 7- Def. Action signifies volition with the effect which 
we will. 

§ 8. Cor. I. Nothing can act but spontaneously. 

§ 9. 2, Nothing but a thinking being can act ; for sponta- 
neity implies an idea of the action to be performed f. 

§ 10. Schol. Action is commonly, though in a less proper 
sense, applied to (irrational, and even inanimate beings, when 
the body immediately employed in producing a new effect, 
]s said to act upon that in which it is produced, as the sun- 
beams upon the earth, the fire upon fuel ^ 

§11. Def. As that being which acts is called the agent, so 
that which is acted upon is called the patient, whether sensible 
or insensible, or whether the action produced be a pleasing or 
displeasing effect. 

§ 12. Def. jPleasure and pain are mnpl^i ideas : that which 
tends to produce the former is called natural good, and that 
which tends to produce the latter natural evil. 

§ 13. Cor, The loss of good is evil, and the removal of 
evil is good. 

§ 14. Schol. See an unnecessary description of pain in 
Collier's Ess. part iii. p. l :J:. 

a Drs-CArrEsPrinc. paiti.J 8. i Hi noy on the Resurrect, p. 467— 471. 

b Mire's Immort. of the Soul, 1. iii. c. xvi. p. c VV .vrib's OntolouT.P. IJl'i. 

* To avoid controversy, the dofinltiou should have been " A thinkinar, incorpo- 
real, unextended .substance ;" the other parts, its beins; immediately created by God, 
and surviving the body, form separate questions; though by our author, from other 
considerations, admitted as important facts. If the whole of the defniition be de- 
fended in the aggregate, those who liold that tlie soul is derived ex traduce, and 
those who maintain that it has no separate existence from the body, but is 
revived at the resurrection, must ahke f/f«^ that man ht7s u mind. But this conse- 
quence would not follow from the first part of the definition, though the materialists 
would still cavil at the terms incorporeal and unextnided. W. 

t It niay be objected that our author does not here distinguish, with sufficient 
accuracy, between rational to///w« and i/iofl/aw/V;/. This latter term belongs more 
properly to a brute tljan a man ; but, has every brute, an oyster, or a moving ani- 
malcule " an ?V/.fi oV tlie action to bo performed ?" W, 

X All descriptions of simple ideas and self-evident truths arc, for the most part, 
minecessary; and this instance is properly exposed as absurd. W. 

Lect. II. Of the Human Mind, Consciousness, y^c. 30'i 

§ \5. A.V. Power whether active or />aj«t;e is a sensible 
IDEA, which we get by observing the changes produced in the 
beings about us by agents and patients "*. 

§ 16. Def. Those properties or powo's of any spirit, where- 
by it is rendered capable of action, enjoyment, or suffering, are 

called FACULTIES. 

§ 17. Prop. To take a survey of the principal faculties of 
the human mind. 

§ 18. SoL 1. We find within ourselv-es a power of perceiv- 
ing, abstracting, compounding, comparing, discerning, judg- 
ing, reasoning, which all lead us on in the pursuit of truth, i. e. 
in the right apprehension of the nature of things, and are called 
by the common name of understanding''. 

§ ly. 2. The power of retaining and recollecting our ideas 
in the absence of their archetypes is what we call memory. 
But when ideas or trains of ideas occur, or are called up by 
memory in a lively manner, and without regard to the order of 
former actual impressions and perceptions, it is said to be dozie 
by the power of the imagination or fancy *=. 

§ 20. 3. We perceive on many occasions various commo- 
tions in our minds ; (which also produce changes and impres- 
sions, not only on the nerves of the brain, but in the exterior 
parts of the body,) which commotions w^e call passions. Plea- 
jz«'eand pain are the great hinges on which they turn, and the 
more particular modifications of them will be considered, 
Lect. xiv. 

Dr. Watts describes them thus : *' They are sensible 
commotions of our whole nature, both sou] and body, which 
are occasioned by the perception of an object according to 
some special property that belongs to it." (Watts on the 
Passions, p. 5.) To excite them, it must appear rare and 
uncommon, good, i. e. agreeable, or evil, i. e. disagreeable. 
§ 21. 4. A power of ioxwi\\\<g volitions i which Locke de- 
fines to be the act of the mind knowingly exerting that domi- 
nion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employ- 
ing it in, or with-ho!ding it from any particular action : but 
what that exerting its dominipn is, can only be known by con- 
sciousness. § 6 ''. 

a r.'^CKE's 1. ii. c. xxi. § 1. 2. _ _ | Bai.guy's \'I. Seriti. p. 44— .'^5. Ibi.i, SoiiH. 

b Ul'N can's Logic, ap. Prece^)t. vol. ii. 1. i. c. i. I vol. i.p. 357 — 35:*. 

\ 4. ib. 1. ii. c. i. § 1. ib. I. lii.c. i. J 1/2. I i LocKE's lias. 1. ii. c. xxi. J 13, , 

c n.\iaLEY un Man, vol. i. lutrod. p. 3. | 

Pp 2 


§ 22. 5. A power of moving some parts of the body. Others 
It has no immediate power over, the motion of some being 
always involuntary, as that of the heart. In other parts, it is 
sometimes voluntary and sometimes otherwise, as in the lungs 
and intestines \ 

§ 23. Dem. We find by experience, that these faculties are 
in our own minds, and we perceive by their effects, they are in 
the minds of others. 

§ 24. Cor. 1 . r^Ian is a being of great abilities and excellen- 
cies ; so that if it shall hereafter appear that he was produced 
by any other intelligent being, it may reasonably be concluded, 
that he was designed for great and important purposes *. 

§ 25. 2. While these faculties continue in a degree of vi- 
gour, he must be capable of great and noble improvements ; so 
that much of the difference between persons in other respects 
equal, will depend upon the degree in which this natural fur- 
niture is cultivated or neglected. 

§ 26. Schol. 1 . It is not proper to speak of the understanding 
and other faculties of the soul as if they were distinct principles 
of action: the understanding is the soul understanding, the will 
is the soul willing : and to represent them as distinct agents 
produces confusion in our ideas ^. 

§ 27. 2. The power which the mind evidently has of 
moving the various parts of the body b)'^ nerves inserted in the 
muscles, is truly wonderful, seeing the mind neither knows the. 
nuiscles to be moved, nor the machinery by which the motion 
in it is to be produced : so that it is, as if a musician should al- 
ways strike the right note on a very complex instrument, w^hich 
he had never seen before. That no laws of mechanism can pro- 
duce this, is proved by its being voluntary, as well as by other 
considerations '^. 

^ 2S. S. It is questioned, whether there be any motion in the 
liuman body which depends upon the mind, and yet is involun- 
tary f. 

a Des CARTrs de Pass. I. i. ? 13, Ifi. I CRouZAx'sl.ogic. vol.i. parti, c. viii. J6. p. 144. 

b Wnsil (XcoTi. Ftrd. I. iii. r. vii. ? i, 5, c Cheyni-.'s Prinr,. c. ii. i 1.!. p. 29—35. 

Locke's Kss. 1. ii. c. XM. S n — 20. | Matho, vol. i. p.359. &c. 

* Our author's mathematical form professes to take nothing for granted, but 
the Axioms, which are self-evident. It may be observed, once for all, that such a 
cautious, hypotheticiU mode of speaking, is not expressive of the evidence as it 
stood in the author's mind, but relates to the order of evidence in the course of inves- 
tigation. W. 

f The affirmative seems most prohable ; from a due consideration of some 
complaints which are, in a great measure, both generated and removed by the in- 

Lect. III. The Human Mind, Consciousness^ Uc, 305 

§ 29. 4. Berkeley entireJy denies the power of abstraction, 
as an evident absurdity and inconsistency, and says, we have 
onlv a power of making one particular id^a a representation of 
all the rest. But this is all grounded upon an unwary expres- 
sion of Mr. Locke. The truth is, that we do not positively ex- 
clude, but only overlook a part of the idea from which we ab- 
stract : v. g. when I conceive of a line by abstraction, I do not 
deny that it is either straight or crooked, but only think of the 
flowing of a point without determining its direction * ^ 

LECT. in. 
Of Brute Animals, and tlieir Powers. 

§ I . Prop, JL O survey those phaenomena observable in brute 
anhnals, which seem to bear some resemblance to the faculties 
of the liinnan mind. 

§ 2. Sol. 1 . They seem to have a power of perception ; v. g. 
to see, to hear, to smell, to taste, and to feel ; and it seems, that 
it is hy this power, that those bodies, which we call animal, are 
distinguished from those that are inanimate ''. 

§ 3. 2. Thev seem also to have memory ; which appears by 
the marks of their recollecting a train of ideas, when one that 
has a relation to the rest is by sensation presented anew ; and 
especially bv birds perfecting themselves by practice in tunes 
they have imperfectly learnt '^. 

§ 4. 3. They appear capable of exerting volitions, and of 
putting theni into execution by correspondent motions of their 

§ 5. 4. They appear to be impressed with passions, as joy, 
sorrow, fear, hope, desire, gratitude, anger, &c. and sometimes 
in a very violent degree, 

a Locke ill. 1. ii. c. xi. § 9. I b Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. ix. { H- 

Proced. of Undeist. p. IS^i— 188. c Locke's F.s'!. \. ii. c. x. ? 10. 

BiiRKELEY's Princ. Introd. 5 6—20. | Proced. of die Uiiders. p. 158—162. 

voluntary state of the mind, and of the different motioi.s ol the fluids in the hours of 
sleep, arising from the state of tlie mind, where volition is excluded. This also seems 
to be our author's opnion, who in defence of it appeals to anger and blushing, 
Vid. Lect. iv, § 4. W. 

* For a farther elucidation of this subject, recourse may be had to Reid's 
" Intellectual Powers of Man;" and Mr. DuoALD Stewart's "Elements of the 
Philosophy of the Human Miud." K. 



Part r. 

§ 6. 5. They appear not to have a power of abstraction, be- 
cause they do not use articulate sounds as the signs of their ideas, 
thouj^h the organs of some are capable of pronouncing them"^. 

§ 7. 6. They are incapable of any high degree of reasoning, 
since that evidently depends upon abstract ideas. — Object. 
Many of tlieir actions seem ratmial. — Ans. They are, and in 
so high a degree, that if they were governed by any reason of 
their own, they would exceed the sagacity of tlie generality of 
men : yet in other instances ihQy appear mere idiots ; and in the 
actions of the same species there is so little variety, that we can- 
not imagine this to be the case. This must therefore be granted 
to be a very strange phsenomenon ^. 

§ S, Cor. 1. The Cartesian hypothesis, that brutes are m^re 
machines, is very incredible ; since these pha^nomena can by no 
means be accounted for on any mechanical laws, nor upon any 
principles, which will not prove it possible, that those which 
appear to us human creatures may be mere machines, and not 
only irrational but insensible too = *. 

§ 9. 2. It is evident that man is a creature superior to the 
brutes, though some authors have endeavoured to sink him to a 
level with them ''. Vid. Lect. ii. § 17, &c. 

§ 10. ScoL That plants are a species of animals, and have 
some sort of sensation, is strongly maintained, though with no 
appearance of reason by Redi and Edwards •= f. 

a Locke's Ess. I. ii. c. xi. § 10, 11. 

Proced. of the Underst. p. 188, 189. 
b Spectat. No. I'iO. vol. ii. p. 139. 

Spectac. de la Nat. vol. i. part ii. p. 70, 71. 

COLI.IB. Inq. into the Exist, p. 86, 87. Ed. 1. 
p. 100, 101. Ed. 3. 

Eeatfir's Dissertations, p. 60— 71. 

Reimarus's Dissertations, p. 216—218. 
c Des-Cartf.s de Method. § 5. p. 3.V— 36. 

-Le Clerc's Phys. 1. iv. c. xii. ? 9—13. 

Ray's Wisdom of God, p. 34 — 57. 

Proced. of Understand, p. 17o — 174. 

Ess. upon Hunting, p. 52 — 92. 

Relig. Philos. Contcmp. xxii. 5 42. 

DirroN on the Resur. p. 392 — 400. 

Watt.s's Ruin anil Recov. Append. Ess, i. 
d Blount's Anima Mundi, p. 40 — 46. 

Orig. adv. Celsum, 1. iv. p. 217—222. 

Gel I I's Circe by Layng, pass. 

DiTTON on Resur. }). 395. 
e REDl de General. Insect, p. 245—249,257—260. 

Edward's Exercit. Na viii. ad finem. 

* The difficulty on the other side must not be concealed. If brutes are more 
than machines, what evidence have we from nature, that men dijfcr from tliem ex- 
cept in the degree of intelligence ? After all, it is difficult satisfactorily to ascertain, 
on natural principles, which is most honourable to man or worthy of God ; the opi- 
nion of Des-Cartes, Malebranche and Fenelon, which represents God as acting, 
not first on some brutal mind, which may move their bodies, but immediately on 
their organized frames, or that which our author endeavours to establish. W. 

t This idea lias lately been revived, and seems to be rather growing into 
fashion. See an ingenious Essay on the subject, by Dr. Percival, in the Man- 
cliester Philosophical Transactions. K. 

Lect. IV. Of Brute Animals, and their Powers. 



The Mind's Dependence on the Body. 

§ 1. Dtf. JL HAT maybe called a man's own body, which is 
the animal system over which his will exercises an immediate 
power, and by the organs of which, ideas are transmitted to his 
mind ; and that is to be accounted a vital part of it, which 
partakes of its vegetation. 

§ 2. Pvop. To enumerate the principal phasnomena of the 
dependence of the human mind on the body, 

§ 3. Sol. 1 . When the nerves of the body are moved, ideas are 
presented to our minds whether we will or no, according to the 
different senses, to which those nerves serve, which are put into 
agitation ; that is, certain ideas in the mind succeed to certain 
motions in the brain ^. 

§ 4. 2. Passions are often excited by bodily motions ; and 
on the other hand, when raised, produce changes in the body, 
sometimes even contrary to our volitions ; v. g. in anger and 

blushing ^. 

§ 5. 3. When the body is indisposed, the mind is often 
disabled from using its faculties : v. g. the understanding is 
disa])led by drunkenness and sleep, motion by the palsy, me- 
mory by diseases, Sec. 

§ 6. 4. When the senses are gently and naturally shut up, 
and the command over the body intermitted, as in sleep, if we 
think at all, we are said to dream ; and generally wander 
through airy tracks of thought, which have no agreement with 
each other, nor are at all corrected by the judgment. Ideas 
fetched out of tiie memory, seem to us to be produced anew ; 
and out o'i mere simple ideas\ii\i\ up in the memory, new ima- 
ginary ideas of substances are formed, and seem to be produced 
by external objects. When the senses are obstructed in a vio- 
lent and unnatural manner, as in a swoon, if we think at ail, 
we ma}^ observe the same phenomena, but in a still more lau- 
Q:uid dc'jree '^. 

§ 7. 5. In a frenzy, though the senses be not shut up, nor the 
command of the mind over the body suspended, yet the same 

a I.ocKF.'s F5S. 1. ii. c. i. J 2a. 

CilEYNE's Priiicip. c. iii. ? 39. p.22S, 229. 

Des-Cautes tie Pass, i 34. 

l'ii[i. ])art iv. i 197. p. 216. 

b Locke's K.s.^. 1. ii. c. xx. J_ 17. 

i)£s-(.'Aini:s (ic Vj&i.i 9.— 106, 113— 135. 

c Lime-street I.ect. vol. ii. p.ii2, 443. 
Dhs-Cartf.s Uiojuics, c. vi. i 17. 
HOHAl't.T's Phj.-i. 1. iv. c. xix. 
J.l'CRi/r. 1. iv. ver.yOj— 10J4. 
llFKVEY's Med. vol. ii. p. .iJ. note. 



phenomena are found as in sleep, only in a more vivid and 
pathetic degree'. 

§ 8. 6. Sometimes by very intense thinking, mc do not 
attend to impressions made on the organs of sensation, nor 
receive ideas from them. This, in a very high degree, may be 
culled a trance or ecstasy''. 

§ 9. Cor. Man is a very feeble creature, and we have little 
reason to boast of those intellectual powers, the exercise ot 
which, by the very constitution of our nature, does not only 
depend upon an animal system, but is necessarily subject to fre- 
quent long interruptions, as in the state of sleep '^. 


Of M ell's Intellectual Capacities — The Seat of the Soul. 

f 1 . Schol. 1 . At is queried to what we arc to ascribe the dif- 
ference to be found in the intellectual capacities of men. 

Ansic. The principles of physiognomy, the decay of the 
faculties in old age, the destruction or restoration of them by 
corporeal accidents, and many of the phpenomena mentioned in 
the proposition, may convince us, that the temperature and con- 
stitution of the body lias a great influence on the mind. It must 
also be allowed, that the circumstances of education and con- 
versation may make a considerable difference between persons 
in other respects equal. Yet if we attend to the variety there 
is in all the works of nature, we may be inclined to think, there 
is a like variety in the interna] constitution of human souls: 
-which conjecture is confirmed by observing, that no visible dif- 
ference has yet been discovered between the brain of the weakest 
and the most sagacious of mankind; as well as, that persons in 
the same circumstances, and with the same opportunities, often 
make very different improvements*''. 

a AreT-TUS de Morb. Acut. 1. ii. c. -iv, v. p. 17. 

Boer. Erl. Vid. Boer. Not. in loc. 
b Plutarch's Lives, vol. ii. p. 435, 436. 

L cKE's Lssays 1. ii. c. ix. I 3, 4- ib. e. ii. ? 19. 
FLAvr.T.'s Pneuniat. ap. Opera, p. y76, :J77, 

IMin. td.— Vol. L p. 475, i76. Loud. Ed. 
GUALTHLRlUS inAclsx. 10. 

Co I.. Gardiner's Memoirs, ?30 — ^32. 
c Burnet's Theory, vol. ii. ji. lii\. 

Cams, sur I'F.xist. p. 176, 177. 

HF.KVi:Y's Conteinpl. vol. ii. p. 39,40,48 — 50. 
d Ues-Carti- s de Method, sub init. p. 1. 

WATr'sDeaiiidad Heaven, p. ^—10^. 

* These objects of speculation, beiug more curious than immediately useful, 
may well be referred by j'oiina; students to future consideration. K. 

Much attention has been paid of late to the form of the human head, and the 
conformation of its parts; in order to ascertain a correspondence between these and 
die qualities of the uiiud, Dr, Gall, who lately lectured at Vienna, thinks he can 


Lect. v. 

Of Mai's Intellectual Capacities. 


§ 2. 2. Some have distinguished between the rational and 
the animal soul, as if they were two distinct beings, calling the 
former the spirit, the latter the soul. They suppose the intellect 
and will are seated in the former, the passions and appetites in 
the latter ; and that the soul is a principle common to brutes, 
which therefore they sometimes call by very contemptible names, 
as the horse, the brute, &c, whereas they think the spirit is pe- 
culiar to man. Vid. Lect, 2. § 26 ^. 

§ 3. Def. The soul is said to be seated in that part of the 
body where sensation terminates, and voluntary motion begins. 

§ 4. Prop. The soul is seated in the brain. 

§ 4. Dem. 1. The nerves, on which sensation and motion 
evidently depend, terminate in the brain, or in the medulla 
spinalis, which is derived from thence, and whose fibres are pro- 
bably all continued to it. 

§ 5. 2. If a strait ligature be made on any nerve, or it be 
cut asunder, sensation continues in that part nearest the brain, 
and ceases in that which is more remote. 

§ 6. 3. In men, and in most other animals, death imme^ 
diately ensues, if the head be cut off, or the brains taken out, or 
the cerebellum wounded. 

§ 7. 4. All known distempers that immediately take away 
sensation, are seated in the head. Therefore, 

§ 3. 5. The SOUL is seated in the braiji'^^. Q. E. D. 
Vid. Lect. 4. § 1. 

, § 9. Cor. The ancients were mistaken in placing it in the 
heart ; and Van Helmont in the mouth of the stomach. It may 
be observed by the way, th^.t Philo, who, with many ancients, 
supposed the sensitive soul to be subdivided into the irascible 

a Proced. of the UndersL I. ii. c. x. p. 367, 370— 

Marc. Anton. I. ii. ? 2. 1. iii. i 16. ]. xii. i 3. 

wilh Dae. Notes. 
Des-Cartes de Pass, parti. ? 47. 
Pope's Iliad, 1. xxiii. ver. 122. vol. vi. p. 61, 62. 
Hallet on Script, vol. i. p. 33—49. 

Saurin's nisseit. vol. ii. p. 527. 
CoiLlB. Ess. i. i I. 

Mason on Self Knowledge, 1. i. c. ii. p. I4. 
VlTRiNG. Obs. 1. iii. c. iv. prses. { 2 — 8. 
b Keil's Anat. c. vii. ? 1. 
MORE's Immort. of the Soul, I. ii. c. vii. 5 10. 
Watts's Ess. iii. p. 78 — 80. 

assign to the brain the place of each of the facilities of the soul. But his theory is too 
full of assumption, f^ncy, and conjecture, to be ranked among the discoveries of real 
science. W, 

*The question concerning the seat of tlie soul, for a long time excited the at- 
tention of philosophers, and has been the subject of various discussion. At present, 
we believe that it is deemed of little importance. K. 

The force of this demonstration depends on the form of the definition j but a 
previous question is, Whether we ought to say, that the soul is seatrd where sensa- 
tion terminates ? or, properly speaking, in anyjxirt of the body ? In other words, whe- 
ther uhety belongs to the soul ? W. 

VOL. IV. Q. q 



Part i. 

and concupiscible, placed the former in the heart, the latter in 
the belly, while he thought/the rational was seated in the head*. 

§ 10. Schol. 1. It must still be matter of controversy, in 
what part of the brain the soul is seated. There is no reason to 
think, as some have imagined, that it is in the meninges ; but, 
whether it be in the pineal gland, as Des-Cartes supposes ; or 
as Dr. More thinks, among the animal spirits m the fourth ven- 
tricle or in the corpora striata, as has been lately maintained in 
France, or in some part different from any of these, we cannot 
certainly say*''. 

§ 11. 2. The constitution of some animals may perhaps be 
different from that of men in this respect. It is certain, the 
phaenomena mentioned § 3. are not always to be found in them; 
for wasps will live a long time after their heads are cut off; eels 
are soonest killed by striking them on the tail ; and vipers will 
live some hours after their heads are cut off, and their bowels 
taken out '^. 

Of Innate Ideas. 

§ 1. Def. ^OlNYzV/^a orpropo5j7wwis said to be innate, when 
it is not acquired by the use of the faculties, but so implanted in 
the mind from its original, as to be common to the whole species, 
independently upon any circumstances in which individuals may 
be placed f. 

§ 2. Prop. There are no innate ideas in the human mind. 

§ 3. Dem. 1. There can no simple idea be assigned, but 
may be traced np to sensation or reflection, or both : v. g. to 
one sense alone; as seeing green, hearing the sound of an or- 
gan, smelling a rose, tasting a peach, feeling solidity, &c, or 
more; as extension, motion, rest: to reflection only, as percep- 

a ViTRiNCA ubi supra, § 4- sub fin. 
Ml RE, ibid. 1. ii. c. vii. § 5 — 10. 
Bes-Cartes de Pass. ? 38. 
CoLLlB.on the Soul, Ess. i. § 3. 

b Des-Cartes de Pass. § 32. 

More, ibid. I. ii. c. vii. i 12 — 18. c. viii. per tot. 
c MORE, ibid. 1. iii. c. xv. § 1, 2. 

Bacon's Nat. Hist. Cent. 4. No. 400. 

* Dr. Gall pretends to find the seat of the faculty of observation immediately 
behind the forehead j and the organ of courage a little above the ear. Who knows 
but the time will come, when we shall have exact representations, exhibited to the 
eye, of the residence of each faculty of the mind in the human body, even as now 
our dwellings are seen in a full map ! W. 

f There is a wide diflerence between an innate imposition, and an innate idea, 
according to our author's definition of " idea." While the former is denied tlie lat- 
ter may be allowed, since consciousness i.s included in it. W. 

Lect. VI. Of Innate Ideas. 31 1 

tion, volition, duration: or sensation and reflection both, as 
existence and various kinds of pleasure and pain. Vid. Lect. 

§ 4, 2. We see that simple ideas are acquired gradually, 
and the furniture of various persons differs according to their 
various circumstances in life^. 

§ 5. 3. When the organs of sensation are destroyed, sim- 
ple ideas proper to them are no more acquired; and those, who 
from their birth, want proper organs, want correspondent ideas, 
even though they be ever so important to the comfort and useful- 
ness of life ". Therefore, 

§ 6. 4. It is needless and unreasonable to suppose, that any 
simple ideas are innate. 

§ 7. 5. Compound ideas are made up o^ simple ones, nor 
can we, by any operation of the mind, produce any idea how 
chimerical soever, the materials of which we are not a^feady 
possessed of •*. Hence, 

§ 8. 6. It is needless and unreasonable to suppose any of 
owr ideas innate^ . Q. E. D*. 

a Locke, I. ii. c. iii, v — vii. Ibid. c. i. § 2, 7—9. I d Locke, I. ii. c. ii. i 2. Ibid. c. xii. § S. 
b LOCKF, I. ii. c. i. i 2, 5, 7, 20—23. e Proced. of Underst. p. 382—384. 

c Locke, 1. i. c. iv. i 20. ibid. 1. ii. c. iii. § 1. | More's Philos. Works, 1. i. c. 5, S. 

* The force of this demonstration, it may be objected, depends on a petitio 
principii, that every simple idea may be traced to either sensation or reflection. If 
we admit this principle, it must be in favour of a definition of " idea" different from 
what our author has given. According to that, consciousness is an idea; but to say 
that ail co?isciousness is derived from either sensation or reflection, in the proper sense 
of these words, is inadmissible. If b j' innate be understood any whatever source of 
ideas which is not included in sensation or reflection, then it may be urged, that our 
notion of positive infinity, or of God, is innate ; for our idea ofgrozving infinity which 
is derived from sensation and reflection, is essentially difi"erent. Besides, that notion 
which is itself the measure of compatibility or incompatibility actually presides over 
all sensations and reflections, and therefore cannot be the oft'spring of either. 

The chief question at issue is, and which is of greater moment in religion than 
is commonly imagined, is our just notion of the divine essence derived from either 
sensation, or reflection, or both ? Many, no doubt, have their ideas of what they call 
God from thence ; but they will, probably, be found false and dangerous. That no- 
tion which is attained by magnifying finites ad infinitum has an object essentially and 
infinitely different from the divine essence; but the only idea we can have of infinity 
from sensation and reflection is that of a finite ever-orowing. If our notion of 
God have not a more innate origin than this, it concerns us to know whether we 
have any notion of him at all but what is idolatrous. 

A mind properly disposed may, by a just comparison of ideas, attain to a cer- 
tainty that there is a God ; but this certainty implies that there is an adequate 
ground for it in one of the ideas compared, yet this cannot be, if positive infinity, 
existence, independance, &c. be not perceived (though not comprehended) as implied 
in one of the ideas. It follows therefore, that though every man do not clearly per- 

Qq 2 


Lectures on pneumatology. 

Part r. 

§ 9. Schol. 1. Dr. Watts supposes, there are three sources 
of our ideas, viz. sensation, reflection, and abstraction ; but 
since he grants that the materials of the last are derived from 
the two former, this cannot be reckoned a third primary source^ 
any more than compounding^. 

§ 10. 2. Brown, in his Procedure of the Understanding, 
maintains that we have all our ideas originally from sensation : 
but his proof depends entirely upon his definition of the word 
idea, which he takes for a picture or representation of some sen- 
sible object laid up in the imagination; which is different from 
our definition of it''. Vid. Lect. 1. § 2. 

§ 11. 3. Most of those ideas which arise from reflection, 
come into the mind later than those which arise from sensation '^. 

§ 12. 4. Many errors in our ideas of sensation are rectifi- 
ed by reflection **. 


Of Innate Propositions, 

§ 1 . Prop, JL HERE are no innate propositions in the human 

§ 2. Dem. 1 . All propositions consist of ideas : therefore 
innate propositions would imply innate ideas, contrary to Lect. 
6. § 2^ 

§ 3. 2. If any propositions could be supposed innate, it 
must be those that are intuitively discerned ; but these, though 
assented to' as soon as proposed, are not known before such pro- 
posal, even by those whose minds are least corrupted by educa* 
tion and custom: which shews, by the way, that they cannot 
be the principles of all our knowledge, not being themselves 
first known ^. 

§ 4. 3. All propositions relating to identity and diversity 
of ideas may be intuitively discerned, and consequently must be 

a Watts's Phil. Ess. iii. { 16. p. 93—97. 
b Proced. of L'nderst. p. 53, HZ — (j(i. 

Price's Rev. ot Mor. c. i. § 2. 
. jMonbi jD. on the Oiig. and Progr. of Lang. vol. i. 

p. 1— 1S4. 
c Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. i. I 8. 
d Locke's £ss. 1. ii. c. ix. I 8, 9. 

Smith's Optics, vol. ii. Append, p. 27, 28. 

Li'CKE's Fam. Lett. p. 134^138. 

Watts's Logic, part ii. c. iii. { 3. 

Rei.t on the Hum. Mind, c. vi. i 3, 9. 
e Locke's Ess. 1. i. c. iv. i 19. 
f Locke's Ess. 1. i. c. ii. 1 4, 16, 21— 27. 

ceive a being absolutely great and excellent, yet every man who perceives this con- 
clusion witli certainty, "that there is such a being," must perceive, or have such aa 
idea of him, as is included in the premises of that conclusion. To which may be 
added, that every man ynay, if it be not his own fault, iiave that idea of God's absolute 
exiilcnci', as implied in the consistent belief of the true God. W. 

Lect. vir. 

Of Innate Propositions. 


innate, if intuitive discerning were the mark of an innate pro- 
position. But this would imply, that all our ideas were innate, 
which, is evidently absurd". 

§5. 4. Propositions supposed innate cannot be distinguish- 
ed from others, so that a complete catalogue of them should be 
made: yet this might reasonably be expected, if any were so, 
and would be necessary to render them useful''. 

§ 6. 5. Several of those propositions which are of greatest 
importance in morality, and seem most evident, and are there- 
fore most likely to be innate, are unknown to some, and ex- 
pressly contradicted by others, and all need proof. Valet pro- 

§7. Schol. 1. It may 'be granted, that there are certain 
circumstances, in which it is impossible for the mind to avoid 
receiving certain ideas, and assenting to certain propositionsj 
and even taking them for granted in all its reasonings: and this 
is the necessary consequence of its constitution. It may also be 
granted, that there is something in natural temper disposing to 
gratitude, compassion, &c. as effectually, as if propositions re- 
commending them were inscribed upon the soul. But this is by 
no means inconsistent with what has been said above : and in 
this sense Mr. Locke owns innate practical principles, as the 
desire of happiness ^. 

§8.2. The dream of innate ideas seems to have arisen on 
the one hand, from the desire of teachers to impose their own 
sentiments upon their disciples, as sacred truths stampt on their 
minds by the author of nature ; and on the other, from the ease 
with which such principles have been early received, and the 
assurance with which they have been assented to, so that peo- 
ple cannot remember, that they have ever doubted of them'^ *. 

A Locke's Ess. I. i. c. iv. § 4, 5. Ibid. 1. iv. c. vii. 

b Li cke's Ess. I. i. c. iii. § 14- Ibid. c. iv. §21. 
e Locke's I. i. civ. i 4—13. 

Sale's Prcf. to the Koran, p. 131, 132. 

Watts's Ess. iv.§ 1. 

Baxti-r's Works, vol. ii. p. 381, 
d LocKEs's Ess. 1. i. c. iii. i 3. 

Waits's Ess. iv. ? 2—1. p. 100—102, 104r-107. 

Law's Theory of Rel. p. 8, &:c. 

SHAFfsn. Lett, to a Stud. viii. 
e Locke's Ess. 1. i. c. iii. i 21—26. Ibid. c. iv.J 24. 

* On this important subjectMr. Locke was not gviarded ; and someof liis many 
admirers have but too naturally drawn consequences from his doctrine not a little 
prejudicial to the interests of true piety. He did well to expo-se monkish ignorance, 
and the arbitrary imposition of dogmas on the Human Mind, to the exclusion of ap- 
propriate evidence ; but in so doing he should not have opened a doof for a greater 
evil, a species of refined idolatry. 

From the advocates of Mr. Locke in this view of the subject, we fain would 
learn, whether the conclusion of a syllogism that teaches knowledge or certainty can 
leijitimately contain more than both the premises ? and whether, on his principles, it 




LECT vm. 

Of Different Ideas excited — Memory. 

^ 1. Prop. JL HE same external qualities in objects may ex- 
cite different ideas in different persons. 

§ 2. Dem, 1 . If the organs of sensation be at all different, 
the ideas of the same object must be proportionably so, while 
the same laws of nature prevail. 

§ 3. 2. It is probable, there may be some degree of dif- 
ference in the organs of different persons; v. g. in the distance 
of the retina and chrystalline humour of the eye ; in the degree 
of extension in the tympanum of the ear, in the acrimony of the 
saliva, &c. And the variety, which is observable in the faces, 
the voices, and the bones of men, and almost through the whole 
face of nature, would lead us to suspect, that the same variety 
might take place here. 

§ 4. 3. Those things which are very pleasing to one, are 
extremely disagreeable to another. 

§ 5. 4. Those things which are at one time very agreeable, 
are at another very disagreeable to the same person, when the 
organs of his body are indisposed, or when other disagreeable 
ideas are associated with those that had once been grateful. — 
Valet propositio ^ . 

§ 6. Schol. Though the causes mentioned above may pro- 
bably produce ideas which differ in degree in the minds of dif- 
ferent persons, there is no apparent reason to suppose they dif- 
fer in their kind ; v. g. that what appears green to one, should 
constantly appear red to another, and vice versa''. 

§ 7. Prop. To survey the phenomena of the human me- 
mory, with the solutions that have been given of some of them. 
Lect. 2. § 19. 

t Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xxxii. {15. lb .MAt.EBRANCHE's Research. 1. i. c. xiii. ? 5, C. 

ArsCogit. par.i.c.i. | RoHAurr's Phys. jiar. i. c. xxvii. Jo. vol.i. p. 197. 

Le CL£RC's Log. par. 1. c. i. § 15. | Philos. Trans, vol. Ixviii. par. ii. 1778. 

is possible to come at a certainty that there is absolute infinity, independence, power, 
&c. in a word, that there is a God ? 

The pinnciples of Locke are, 1. That we have no idea or notion at all, from 
whence to reason with certainty, but what is derived from sensation or reflection; 
and, 2. That we have no idea of infinity, existence, power, wisdom, &,c. but what 
we derive from finite objects. — But if so, the premises, or ideas of these finite objects, 
are hutfwite ideas ever-growing ; how then can the conclusion assert ahsobde infinity, 
absolute existence ? Or must we say that absolute infinity is included in that which is 
not so, in order to render the conclusion valid ? W. 

Lect. VIII Of different Ideas excited. 315 

§ 8. Sol. 1. A vast stock of ideas are treasured up in the 
memory f which it easily produces on various occasions. 

The Cartesians say, that objects coming in by sensation, and 
ideas got by reflection, make traces in the brain. — But how ex- 
quisitely fine must these be, when in so small a compass the 
names and images of so many objects, as well as so many propo- 
sitions and arguments are inscribed. Who can sufficiently ad- 
mire it, not only in such extraordinary cases as are mentioned 
by Derham, &c. but in those cases which are most common''? 

§ y. 2. We can distinguish ideas brought out of the me-, 
mory from those, that come in by sensation or reflection ; per- 
haps by the liveliness of the impression, or by the train of 
relations ''. 

§ 10. 3. Ideas, of which Ave have but a general and imper- 
fect remembrance, may often be recovered bv recollection *". 

§ 11. 4. Memory in a great measure depends upon the 
body, and is often much injured by a disease, and after\vards 
recovered with recovering strength, which, on the Cartesian 
hypothesis, is accounted for by supposing, that those parts of 
the brain on which these characters are written, are by such 
disorders relaxed, in the same manner as the nerves in the other 
parts of the body are liable to be weakened or disabled. 

§ 12. 5. The memory differs at difi'erent ages. Children 
soon forget, as tJiey soon learn : old people learn with difficulty, 
and remember best what they learnt when young. That is, say 
the Cartesians, because the brain growing by degrees more dry 
retains old characters, but does not easily admit new ^. 

§ 13. 6. Dreams generally make little impression on the 
memory : because, say some, the animal spirits are then but 
gently moved ^. 

§ 14. 7. An idea attended with great pleasure or pain makes 
a deep impression on the memory, i. e. a deep trace on the 
brain, the spirits being then violently impelled ^ 

§ 15. 8. The power of recollecting differs extremely at 
different times : and it is generally strongest, when we are most 
brisk and lively. 

§ 16. 9. We remember that in the morning, which we 

a Derham's Phys. Theol. 1. v. c. i. p. 262. 
Des-Cartes de Pass. § 42. 
CiCERfi'sTusc. Disp. I. i. i 24, 25. 
"Watts's Kss. iii. i 13, 14. 

b LOCKE'S Ess. 1. ii. c. vi. i 5, 6. 

Des-Cartes de Pass. 5 26. 
c Watts's Ess. iii. I 15. 

Locke's Ess. i. li. c. .\. i 7. 

Roi LIN Manierc, &c. vol.i. p. 275 — 277. | d VVatis's Improv. p. 255, &c. 

August. Confes. 1. x. c. 7. 
Sf.NEc. Contiov. ]. i. sub init, 
Kamsay Princip. vol, i, p. 36. 
Melmotu's Pliny, vol. i, b. vL ep. ii. note, 

Baxter on the Soul, v. 13. 

Camb. Educ, desFilles,p. 25,25. 
e Watts's Ess. v. } 2. 
f Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. .\. ? 3. 


learnt just before we went to sleep; because, say the Cartesians, 
the traces made then are not apt to be effaced by the motions of 
the spirits, as they would, if new objects of sensation had pre- 
sented themselves ; and during this interval, they have, as it 
were, time to stiffen. 

§ 1 7, 10. Sensible ideas gradually decay in the memory, if 
they be not refreshed by new sensations ; the traces perhaps 
wearing out : yet they may last many years ^. 

§ 18. 11. When a train of ideas is very familiar to the mind, 
they often follow one another in the memor}'^ Avithout any labo- 
rious recollection, and so as to arise almost instantaneously 
and mechanically ; as in writing, singing, &c. the traces be- 
tween them being worn like beaten roads **. 

§ 19. 12. The memory is a faculty, which is almost inces- 
santly exercised, Avhile thought continues ; (though the instances 
of laborious recollection are comparatively few :) nor do we ever 
find the human mind entirely stript of it, though it be often im- 


Of Memory, according to Cartesius, 

§. 1. Dem. JL HE probability of the Cartesian hypothesis will 
appear from considering, 

§2.1. How well it agrees with the various phaenomeng, 
mentioned above. 

§ 3. 2. The analogy upon this hypothesis between sensation 
and memory, the one arising from impressions made on the brain, 
the other depending on traces continued there. 

§ 4. 3. The instances in which memory has been almost 
wholly lost at once by a sudden violent blow upon the head ; 
insomuch that a great scholar has entirely lost the knowledge of 
letters by it, and has been forced with infinite labour to begin 
again from the elements of them : and in other instances the re- 
collection has been gradual, and the events of childhood and 
youth have been recovered firsts 

§ 5. Cor, The memory is a useful faculty, which deserves 

a J.ocKF.'stss. 1. ii.c. X. ?4iS. | c Collib. on the Soul, Ess. i. ?9. 

h Locke's Kss. 1. ii. c xxxiii. 86. | Clerici Pneum. I. iv. 8—17, 

Hartley on Man, c. iii. ? 1. 

Llct. IX. Of Memory, according to Cartesius. 


to be carefully cultivated by attention and exercise, frequent 
reviews and conversation *. 

§ 6. Schol. 1. The artificial methods which some have pro- 
posed must be allowed to be very ingenious ; but perhaps are 
rather calculated to improve a memory already good, than 
to help a bad one ''. 

§ 7. 2. The excellency of the memory consists partly in 
its strength of retention, and partly in its quickness of recol- 
lection ". 

^ 8. 3. If the Cartesian hypothesis should be admitted, me- 
mory will still continue a great mystery : for it must be ac- 
knowledged impossible thoroughly to explain how either that 
or sensation should be affected by any impression on the brain, 
or what connection there can be between such impressions and 
thought in any of its modes. 

§ 9. 4. Mr. Locke accounts for the association of ideas, 
V'hich is the cause of antipathies and many errors, with other 
strange ph^enomena, by memory ; supposing such traces are 
worn on the brain as unite ideas, so that when the mind turns to 
one it should almost necessarily fall on the other too^*. Led. 8. 

§ 10. 5. If the Cartesian hypothesis be admitted, it must be 
owned that nothing gives a greater idea of the minuteness of the 
parts into which matter may actually be divided, than the 
smallness of those traces, by which so many dictionaries, histories, 
poems, &c. are transcribed, and so many pictures exactly drawn 
in miniature *". 

§11. 6. It is probable the weakness of memory in infants 
may be one chief cause of their being so long before they come 
to the use of speech, as well as the want of dexterity in using 
the organs of it. 

a Free-Thinker, No. 72. 

KOLi.iN's Man. &c. %'ol. i. p. 277—279. 

Watt's Iinprov. of the Mind, part i. c. xvii. 
b Rnij.iN's Man. fcc. vol. i. p. 279,230. 

Grky's Memoria Technica. 

Bruen's Life, p. 55—58. 
c Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. x. f 8. 
d Locke's tss. 1. ii. c. xxxiii. ? 7 — 18. 

Hartley on Man, Prop. X. XL voL L p. 
65— 7'2. 

* That memory is an original faculty given us by the author of our being, of 
which we can give no account, but that we are so made, is maintained by Dr. Reid, 
in Ills " Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man," p. 303—310. For an account 
of the diflferent theories coucerninj memory, see the same author, p. 338—356. K. 




Of Successiojiy Duralioiiy and Time. 

§ 1. Jx. W E get our ideas of succession, by observing the 
trait) of ideas passing throngli our minds one after another =*. 

§ 2. Prop. The swiftness and slowness of the succession of 
ideas in the human mind have certain limits. 

§ 3. Devi. 1. Some motions are so swift, and others so slow, 
that they cannot be seen. 

§ 4. 2. Motion is always successive. 

§ 5. 3. Could our ideas succeed each other as fast as the bo- 
dies move in one case, and as slow as they move in the other, 
the motion would become visible. 

§ 6. 4. The swiftness and slowness of ideas coming in by 
sight have their limits. 

§ 7. 5. There is equal reason to believe it with regard to 
other ideas ; as some of the like phenomena may be observed 
concerning some ideas that come in by hearing. 

§ 8. 6. We are not able to retain one idea long in the mind 
without any variation ; nor can we call up any given number of 
ideas, in any given time ; v. g. we cannot think over ten verses 
between one vibration of the pendulum, and another ^ Valet 

§ 9. Schol. It is evident there are various degrees of velo- 
cjtv in the ideas of different persons, and of the same person at 
different times ; partly according to the temper in which he is, 
and partly according to the degree in which he exercises his vo- 
litions : and where the velocity is the same, it will seem greater, 
in proportion as the kinds of ideas are more various ^ 

§ 10. Ax. The idea of duration is a simple idea, which 
we get by reflecting on the succession of our ideas •*. 

§ 11. Cor. When we are insensible of the succession of our 
ideas, we are also insensible of duration*^. 

§ 12. Def. Time is a part of duration measured by some 
supposed e(]ual succession, a certain number of which makes a 
period or epocha*^. 

a LOTKE's Fss. 1. ii, c. xiv. ? 4, If Lockf, ib. ? 17. 

b LOCK P. "s Er^. 1. ii. c. xiv. i ti— 14. | AUGl'ST. Confess. 1. ii. c. xiv. apud JACKSON'S 

c \Vati~s':; Ess. No. xii. 'i 2. I Works, vol. i. p. 8H3. 

V'.tm. of Ciit. vol. i. c. 9. ( Young's Night Thoughts, p. 34. 

d LocKU's K.!iS. ib. § 1— o. j \v atis's Ontology, c. iv. and xii. 

e 1.0CKE'.s Kss. ib. ? 4> 5. I Mermes, p. lO^r— 114. 

Lect. X. Of Succession, Duration, and Time. 319 

§ 13. Schol. 1. The revolutions of the lieavcMily bodies 
serve for a convenient measure of time, sceinj^- they are long, 
various, publicly visible, and nearly equable. Yet any phaeno- 
mona returning periodically and regularly, (v. g. the freezing of 
Av.itor, the blowing of flowers, a fit of the ague, «kc.) might with 
regard to auv particular person answer the same end^. 

§ 14 2. Nevertheless, in the absence of such assistance, the 
train of ideas passing through a man's mind may be to himself 
the measure of time : though neither this nor any other measure 
can be demonstrated entirely equable''. 

§ 15. 3. When the duration of any being is said to be either 
long or short, it is only as compared with that of other beings^. 

§ 16. Cor. 1. Tlie same paft of duration may appear of dif- 
ferent lengths to different persons, and to the same persons at 
different times •*. See Lect. 8. § 6. 

§ 17. 2. Hence we may learn the reason why 3'^ears {ceteris 
paribus) appear longer* to us while very young, than as we grow 
up to riper age; because the objects being newer, strike the 
mind more forcibl}', and so the succession is more observed than 
■when they grow more familiar to the mind. The like may be 
observed of the day Ave spend in a strange place, or a road we 
are not used to travel. Yet if by frequent repetition a thing is 
grown tedious to us, it appears of a longer duration ; because 
ive mingle many other ideas with it, and therefore on the whole 
there is a crreater succession. 

§ 18. 3. If an almighty power be supposed, it may make 
that part of duration, which appears but a moment to one, 
appear a thousand years to another, or a much greater period, 
and vice versa ; which is indeed an amazing thought. 

§ 19. 4. Time is not (as it has often been said to be) the 
measure of motion, but motion is one, though not the only mea- 
sure of time : for if there were no material world, and so no mo- 
tion, there might still be time, if there were any intellectual 
beings, whose ideas succeed each other *^. See § 13. 

a LocKF. ib. ? IP, 9,0. 

b L iCKE's Ess. ib. 5 i!I. 

c Free-Thinker, vol. iii. No. IH. 

Lr. C'.ERc's Logic, part i. c. iv. J 6. 
d Spectator, \o\. ii. No. 9i. 

Malcbr. 1. i. c. 8. 

Elem. of Crit. vol. i. c. Q. App. 
e Locke's Ess. ib. i'i'Z, 2J. 
Jackson's VVorlLs, vol. i. 1. v. c. xiii. { 2. p. 

S8 1,882. 
Reid's Intellect. Pow. of Man, p. 310—314. 

3'.'3— 331. 

Rr 2 



Part. i. 


The Primarj/ and Secondary Qualities of Bodies — The Imper- 
fection of Human Knowledge. 

§ 1. Def JL HOSE PROPERTIES or qualities of bodies, are 
called PRIMARY, which are in them, whether we perceive them 
or not : (v. g. bulk, number, figure, situation of their solid 
parts, motion, rest, &c.) But those ideas, which by means of 
these primary qualities are excited in our minds, as colours, 
sounds, smells, tastes, &c. (being vulgarly but falsely supposed 
to be in bodies) are called secondary qualities ^. 

§ 2. Schol. Mr. Locke farther divides secondary qualities 
into those that are immediately perceivable, i. e. by the ideas 
which the bodies themselves produce in us ; and those that are 
mediately perceivable, i. e. by the changes which we see them 
produce in other bodies'^ *. 

^ 3. Prop. To enumerate several instances and causes of the 
imperfection of human knowledge. 

§ 4. Sol. and Dem. 1 . We are ignorant of many things for 
want of ideas, perhaps wanting proper organs for such kind 
of ideas, and certainly wanting such an intenseness of those or- 
gans which we have, as would be necessary to discover many 
things which are now concealed from us by their distance or mi- 
nuteness. This occasions great imperfections in our knowledge 
both of body and spirit''. 

§5.2. We are not able to discern the connection between 
many of those ideas which we have, particularly that between 
the primary and secondary qualities of bodies, which is a great 
impedhncnt to physical enquiries'". 

§ 6. 3. Few important propositions are intuitively known ; 
and all demonstrative knowledge depends upon the memory, 
w hich, being fallible, brings some degree of uncertainty on what 
we learn by it ^, 

§ 7. 4. We are often obliged to judge by analogy, the par- 

a rocKF.'s Ess. 1. ii. c. viii. ? 8—22. 

Wa'IT's Ess. No. iii. p. 81 — 85. 

ROHAUlTs Physics, vol. i. c. 10. 
b Locke's Ess. ib. i 23—26. 
c LOCKB's Ess. l.iv. c. iii. S23— 27. 

d Locke's Ess, J. iv. c. Iii. I 9—17, ib. c. vi. 
i 11—15. 
Watt's Ess. No. iii. ? 9. 
e LccKE's Ess. I. iv. c. ii. i 4—7. ib. c. iii. I 3. 
c. xi. S9— 11. 

* See this whole matter amply discussed by Dr, Reid, in his '• Intellectual 
Powers of Man." p. '75—302. , 

Lect. XII. Of personal Identity. 321 

ticulars of which are generally very imperfect, and come vastly 
short of a complete induction ^. 

§ 8, 5. The various avocations of life, an indolent temper, 
and wrong methods of pursuing knowledge, hinder our attain- 
iiifr what misjht otherwise come within our reach''. 

§ 9. Cor. Since our knowledge is so limited, it must be of 
great use and importance to know the limits of it''. 

§ 10. Schol. 1. Nevertheless, we are not destitute of capa- 
cities and opportunities for coming to the knowledge of those 
things on which our happiness most evidently depends '*. 

§ 11. 2. The question, whether there be any material 
world or not, will come in with greater advantage hereafter : yet 
were the negative to be granted, (which Bishop Berkley main- 
tains,) the same difficulties with those above-mentioned would 
occur, with a little alteration of phrase. 


Of Personal Identity. 

§ 1. Prop. JL O enquire wherein PERSONAL IDENTITY consists*. 
§ 2. Sol. 1. Mr. Locke supposes it consists in a continued 
consciousness of the same actions ; and from thence infers, that, 
if the consciousness of one spirit Avere to be transferred to an- 
other, they would both make but one person ; and that, if any 
spirit should lose all consciousness of its former actions, it would 
from that time become a different person. To confirm this, he 
pleads that, when it is evidently apparent that consciousness is 
lost, i, e. in case of phrenzy, when a man is besides himself, the 
sober man is not punished for the actions of the mad-man, nor 
the mad-man for the actions of the sober man. But I think this 

a LOCKK's Ess. I. iv. c. xii. ? 9. c. xvi. ? 12. 
b Locke's Ess. I. iv. c. iii. i 130. 
C L'CKE's Ess. 1. i. c. i. J4— 6. 
Mason jm Self Knowledge, p. 62. 

Butler's Sermsns, No. xv. 
d Locke's Ess. I. i. c. i. J 5. ib. 1. iv. c. xi. J 8. 
JONVAL's Lett, in Nat. Displayed, vol. i. p. 277- 

* Jdcnlitij seems to be a simple idea, no less so than unity, and essence; there- 
fore a definition of it is extremely diflicult. But perhaps it may be best described by 
saying, It is that which in some respect diflers from every other. For, if you sup- 
pose Izco things in all respects the same, tlien in proportion as the thought proceeds 
in discarding difierence they will become idem, the same thing or person. Were the 
writer of this note to hazard a definition of identity, it should be, that existence, or 
7)iode of existence, which cxcludi-s all diffirence. 

Cor. To assert that two or more persons, things, or systems, exist, or even are 
possible, and yet are in no respect different, is a contradiction.—— W. 


may be accounted for another way, witliout supposing tliat the 
law looks upon them as different persons-'. 

§3. 2. To this Dr. Watts very justly objects, that fancied 
memory might make two men born in the most distant places 
and times tlie same person, or real forgetfulness might make the 
same man different persons: v. g. Lee the tragedian when dis- 
tracted might be successively Alexander, Socrates, Tully, 
Virgil, Luther, Queen Elizabeth ; and therefore Lee when 
distracted miglit justly be rewarded or punished for all the dif- 
ferent actions which he ascribes to himself: and finally, several 
men might become the same persons. This he thinks is contrary 
to the common forms of speech and to true philosophy''. 

§ 4. 3. He therefore concludes, that the same person, in an 
incomplete sense, is the same intelligent substance or conscious 
mind, but in a more complete sense, is the same soul united to 
the same bod}'; or in other words, that, while a spirit is united 
to a body, the same continued animal life, in union with the 
same spirit, generally attended with the same consciousness, 
goes to constitute the same person. If the question be started 
relating to a supposed resurrection, it is answered, that if the 
resurrection precedes the dissolution of the body, it does not al- 
ter the common forms of speaking ; but if the body be dissolv- 
ed, we may refer it to an after enquiry how far and in what 
cases it may be said to be the same. Mr. Locke also acknow- 
ledges this to be most probable: so that the chief question be- 
tween them is only about the application of the word person in a 
case that is never likely to happen, i. e. of transferred conscious- 
ness. Yet for this very reason I think Dr. Watts's notion is to 
be preferred. And to conclude, if God should utterly destroy 
the soul and body of any man whom we know, and afterwards 
create a new spirit, united to a new body and in form resembling 
the other, and give to it the exact consciousness of the man 
whose body and soul was destroyed, and should reveal to us 
Avhat he had done, we could not converse with this new pro- 
duced man as the same man we formerly knew, or approve that 
as an equitable conduct, b}'^ which he should be rewarded or 
punished for the actions of the annihilated man. This abun- 
dantly shews the impropriety of Mr. Locke's manner of stating 
the question, and how much Dr. Watts's is to be preferred 
to if^. 

§ 5. Schol. 1. Mr, Locke seems to have been led into this 

a LrcKE'sEss. 1. ii. c. xxvii. ?9— '27. I Locke's Efs.ib. ?2.i. 

b WAiTs's EsB. No. xii. i 7. p. 294—308. j LR Ci.r.Rc's Ontology, c. ii. ? 7. 

c W.\iTs's Ess. ib. ji. 301— 30(i, 308—3 13. | Butler's .■Vnalogy, Diss. i. p. 439—450. Oct. Ed. 

Lect. XIII. Of the Soul always thiiiking. 323 

mistake, by considering what we commonly call ourselves, 
rather than what we call the same person when speaking of an- 
other. (Vide Locke ubi supra, § 16.) Yet it is plain we do 
not make consciousness the only rule even here, since no one is 
conscious of his having been born, nor of many other events and 
actions of his life, which nevertheless upon the evidence of rea- 
son and testimony, without consciousness, he would not at all 
scruple to apply to himself. 

§ 6. 2. If we have two ideas of body in all respects the 
same, for instance, of a book, or watch, we judge that they have 
the same archetype, if each of the ideas have the same relation 
to certain times and places ; for we know that two bodies can- 
not be at the same time in the same place. As for the question, 
whether two spirits may or not, it depends upon the doctrine of 
the inunateriality ; and it is proper to defer the examination of 
it, till we have proved that there is some immaterial spirit ^ 

Of the Soul always Thinking. 

§ 1 . Prop. JL O enquire whether men think always without 

§ 2. (I.) For the Affirmative. If there be a time when the 
soul does not think, the existence of it as a spirit is destroyed: 
and we can imagine nothing to remain, unless it be something 
merely material. Now there is no apparent reason to think the 
soul thus exists by intervals; and therefore we must conclude 
it always thniks. 

§ 3. To this it is replied, that such a definition of the soul, 
as implies continual actual thought, is begging the question in 
dispute. When actual thought is suspended, there may remain 
some secret power of thinking resulting from the constitution of 
the soul, which will exert itself when the obstruction is removed. 
As a bow when bent, has a disposition to straighten itself again, 
or a clock to strike, though the hammer be held back. 

§ 4. To this it is answered, we can have no idea of this 
power. If the power of thinking be not the very substance of 
the soul, there must be some unknown substance in which the 
power inheres : nor can we imagine how it awakes itself again 
to actual thought. 

a F>;?. on Personal Identity, pub. 1769. | Reid's Intellect. Powers of, p. 31 j— .^21. 

Ijefence of Ml. Locke's upiiiiou, pub. 1769. | p. aSi;— 3J7. 


§ 5. It is farther objected, that the various degrees of in- 
tenseness of thought, which we all perceive, seem to prove that 
thought is not the essence of the soul ; for then it must be uni- 
form and constant. (Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xix.) 

§ 6. But it may be replied, that the least degree of thought 
is thought, as the finest particle of matter is matter. On the 
whole it must be granted, that, if it be hereafter proved without 
this proposition, that the human soul is immaterial, there will be 
some considerable weight in the argument ; if the contrary be 
proved, there will be very little^. 

§ 7. (II.) For the Negative. 1. If we think in our sleep, 
we think in vain ; and it is not to be thought we are so constitut- 
ed as that this should be necessary. 

§ 8. y4ns. If all our forgotten thoughts are in vain, many 
of our waking thoughts are so ; for how few can we perfectly 
recollect. We may as well argue against our existing at all 
Avithout thought, as a useless thing. Besides, there is perhaps 
in sleep, some continued sense of pleasure, which the wise au- 
thor of nature might connect Avith so necessary a support of life 
as sleep is. To Avhicb we may farther add, that the uninterrupt- 
ed thought of every rational spirit, whether remembered or for- 
gotten, may make a part of a scheme, in the general right and 
useful, though the advantage of it in some particular instances 
may not appear. As we may suppose with respect to those 
minerals or metals in the bowels of the earth, which are never in 
fact discovered ^. 

§9.2. Infants, who have but few ideas, sleep much ; pro- 
bably before, and to be sure after their birth : but is it to be 
imagined they are all that while necessarily employed in think- 
ing ? 

§ 10. Ans. It is allowed they have few, or no ideas by re- 
flection : (for the thought of a learned Scotch anatomist, who 
pretends they are then forming the heart and lungs for their 
respective offices, seems too extravagant to be particularly ex- 
amined.) But ideas of sensation they have early; perhaps 
some strong sensations of the mother communicated to them 
before the birth : but when the soul is first united we know not*^, 

§ 1 1. 3. As we fall asleep we seem gradually to approach 
to a state of insensibility ; it is therefore probable that at length 
we arrive at it. 

aWATTs'sEss. No. V. ? l-p- 1")— lis. ' j Watts's Ess. ib. ? 3. p. 127, 12S. 

Locke's Es.?. 1. ii. c. i. ? 10—19. c Locke's Ess. ib. i 17, 21, 22. 

b Locke, ib. i 15. I Waits's Ess. ib. p. 129— J31, 

Lect. XIII. Of the Soul always Thinking, 325 

§ 12. Ans. If by insensibility be meant incogitation, tlie 
phacnomenon is denied : the same kind of argument may prove, 
that matter might be annihilated by continual division ^ 

§ 13. 4. We do not remember that we think in many of 
our sleeping hours, therefore how can we know that we do ? 

§ 14. Ans. Dreams may be entirely, or but imperfectly, or 
not at all remembered, according to the various degrees in which 
the nerves are impressed by the motion given to the animal 
spirits in sleep. Besides, daily experience shews us, that occur- 
rences of the day bring to mind dreams, which in the morning 
we had forgotten ; and we have often a general remembrance 
that we have dreamed, though we know not of what: to which 
it may be added, that people sometimes in their sleep discover 
marks of great emotion, when, if asked in the morning what it 
was that disquieted them, they do not perhaps know j so that 
though it would be very ridiculous to argue from universal ex- 
perience that we always think in our sleeping hours, this will 
not be an unanswerable objection against any other argument ; 
nor can it possibly prove that we ever cease from thinking, any 
more than breathing, which we also forget; or than forgetting 
the circumstances of our birth will prove we were never born*'. 

§ 15. 5. It might be expected that those operations of the 
soul should be most rational, in which it is most abstracted from 
the body ; whereas, by what we remember of our dreams, we 
perceive the contrary. 

§ 16. Ans. It may be a law of the creation, that, during 
our union with the body, a certain disposition of the nerves ge- 
nerally wanting in sleep, should be necessary to rational and 
connected thought ; and that such a wild play of the animal 
spirits as arises from the obstruction of the nerves should cause 
roving imaginations, which therefore, by the way, it is no dis- 
honour or detriment to forget^. 

§ 17. 6. If a man thinks without knowing it, the sleeping 
and waking man are two different persons. 

§ 18. Ans. If by knowing it, be meant remembering it, 
(which it must mean if it be at all to the purpose) they cannot 
be different persons, according to Mr. Locke's principles of 
identity, unless every instance of forgetfulness makes a man a 
new and different person : and then how many thousands and 

a LOCKE'S Fa*;. 1. ii. c. \ix. 5 3, 4- | c Locke's Ess. ib. 5 16. „^ ^ 

b LOCKK'S K-«s. I. ii. c. i. } 13, Li. 18. | WaTTS'S Ess. ilj. } 3. p. 126, 127. 

Wa iTs's Ess. ib. 8 -'. p. l'.!0— 1^5. 




Part i. 

millions is every man. This objection would suppose two dis- 
tinct incommunicable consciousnesses acting in the same body 
by intervals, as in sleeping and waking ; which none ever main- 

§ 19. 7. If the soul always thinks, there must be some in- 
nate ideas, contrary to Lect. 6. § 2. 

§ 20. J}is. There must be some one idea at least or per- 
ception ; but that it is this rather than that, does not arise from 
the original constitution of the soul, but from the circumstances 
in which the body to which it is united is placed : (thus it might 
have been the idea of colour as well as heat. ) So that supposing 
the soul at the first moment of its union with the body to have 
the idea of heat, this would not prove heat to be an innate idea''. 
Lect. 6. § 1. 

§ 21. Schol. It may not be amiss here to mention the argu- 
ment which Mr. A. Baxter has drawn from thephaenomena of 
dreams, to prove the existence of some immaterial spirits by 
which they are suggested ; though the particular manner, in 
which that strange and seemingly inconclusive argument is ma- 
naged, cannot here be largely represented, and need not be par- 
ticularly confuted ''. 

Of Dr. Walls's Survey of the Passions. 

§ 1. Prop. JL O take a more particular survey of the passions 
of the human mind, according to Dr. Watts's distribution of 
them. See Led. 2. § 20. 

§ 2. Sol. An object may be considered as rare and uncom- 
mon, as good or evil in the general, or with respect to the various 
kinds of good or evil, and the particular circumstances that 
attend it. 

§ 3. 1. If an object be in the general considered as rare, it 
excites admiration : sudden w^onder is surprise, great wonder is 
astonishment. This passion has no opposite. If an object ap- 
pear good in the general, it excites love; if evil, hatred ''. 

a Locke's Ess. ib. ? 12. c. xxvii. J 23. 

Wattss Ess. ib. p. I'ij, ViG. 
b Locke's Kss, ib. i 17, 20, 21. 

See on this subject, BAXT. on the Soul, vol. i 
p. 330— 3-i(>. and note (a) Oct. Ed. 

c BAXTEHon the Soul, ex. passim. Oct. Ed. voU 
ii. i 1. 

FoRDYCE on Educ. vol. ii. Dial. 16. 
d IlARiXEY on Man, vol. i. c. iv. 

Tucker's Light of Nat. v:;l. i. c. xxi. 

Gi'.0V£'s Mot, Phil, vol i. par, ii. j I, c. 8—10. 

Lect. XIV. Of Dr. W a tts's Survey of the Passions. 327 

N. B. Tliese are primary passions, and those uoder the next 

head are derived from the two last of these. 

§ 4. 2. As to the various kinds of good and evil ; consider- 
ing an object merely and absolutely as valuable, it excites 
esteem, which in a very high degree is veneration, and in a su- 
preme degree is adoration. If it be considered as worthless, it 
excites contempt, especially if it be proposed as excellent. If 
it be considered as fit to receive good from us, it is the object 
of benevolence or good-will; if fit to receive evil, of male- 
volence or ill-will. But it is to be observed that this passion 
centers only on sensible objects ; i. e. on objects capable of per- 
ception. If the object be considered as fit to do me good, or 
afford me any present pleasure, it produces complacency, if the 
contrary, displicency. Complacency in any very high degree 
towards an inferior, or on considerations not adequate to that 
degree of regard, is fondness; the opposite to which is disgust 
or loathing:. 
N. B. There may be benevolence where there is no complacency, 

but a high degree of complacency without benevolence is 

hardly conceivable*. 

§ 5. 3. As to the various circumstances in whicb the good 
or evil object is considered, it may be either present or absent. 

§6. (1.) Future good considered as possible excites desire, 
which is the great spring of action : if evil be considered as 
possible, it excites aversion. 

§ 7. (2.) If there be a probable prospect of obtaining ab- 
sent good, it excites hope ; if evil be likely to come upon us, 
it produces fear. The highest degree of hope is confidence or 
security ; when little remains, there is despondency ; and when 
hope is entirely banished, despair succeeds. Fear joined w^ith 
foresight, is anxiety; Avith careful contrivance to avoid it, is 
solicitude ; mingled with surprise and rising to a violent degree 
on a sudden, is terror ; and a high degree of aversion attending 
the idea of any object we apprehend or reflect on, is horror. 

§8. (3.) Good obtained awakens joy : evil actually en- 
dured brings sorrow, Moderate joy is gladness : sudden and 

* This remark is of great importance in order to form a just view of the divine 
character. The love of God to sinners, as such, is a love of benevolence j but to 
saints, as such, a love of complacency, Christ loved the church, so as to give him- 
self a ransom for it, from benevolence ; bat he loves it with complacency when 
made, in its measure, conformable to himself. A christian loves his enemies with 
benevolence; but the bretliren, with complacency.— —W. 

Ss 2 



Part i. 

high joy is exultation : habitual joy is cheerfulness. Moderate 
sorrow is trouble: great sorrow is distress and anguish: habitual 
sorrow is melancholy. Congratulation is the sentiment and ex- 
pression of joy arising from the happiness of another. Pity and 
compassion is sorrow arising from the distress of another. 
Sympathy comprehends both: Envy is the contrary of both. 
Jealousy is a species of envy, arising from an apprehension of 
preference given to another person in the affections of one for 
whom we have a peculiar regard. Shame may be reckoned as 
a species of sorrow, attended frequently with blushing, arising- 
from a consciousness, imputation, or apprehension of any thing 
that appears to be matter of disgrace in ourselves, or others we 
are concerned for, i. e. when likely to expose us or them to the 
contempt of others. 

§ 9. (4.) When any intelligent being designedly brings 
good upon us, it excites gratitude; when evil, anger. With 
respect to our fellow-creatures, gratitude is a mixture of com- 
placency and benevolence ; anger is displicency with some de- 
gree of malevolence. When anger rises to an excessive degree, 
it is rage and fury ; when it is deeply rooted, it is rancour and 
spite ; when arising on trifling occasions, and expressed in little 
tokens of resentment, it is peevishness. When an affront is ap- 
prehended, beneath us or any other person to whom it is offered, 
it excites indignation ; and when anger is attended with a desire 
of hurting another it is called malice ; and when this is in con- 
sequence of an apprehended injury, revenge *. 

§ 10. Schol. 1. Des-Cartes divides the primary passions 
into six, viz. admiration, love, hatred, desire, joy and sorrow : 
And though this is by no means an accurate distribution, yet his 
description of the passions contains many excellent passages''. 

§11. 2. As pain is useful for preserving the animal body 
from those injuries which might prove fatal to it, so many of the 
passions, which are disagreeable in their present operations, are 
useful and even necessary, both to individuals and societies '^. 

a Watts on the Passions, ? 2. p. 4—5. Ed. 2. 
FORDYCE's Mor. Philos. b. i. 2 2 — i. 
PoPE-s Ethic Epist. ii. ver. 93—204. 
Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xx. 
HUTCiiESON's Treatise on the Passions. 
L£ BiiUN, Of the Character of the Passions. 

b Des-Cartes de Pass, part ii. §69. p. 81. 
c Watts on the Passions, p. 85 — 88. 

Butler's Serm. No. viii. p. 150 — 154. 

Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. vii. ? 4- 

FO!iT£H's Serm. vol. ii. p. 122—125, and 12$. 

Lect. XV. Concerning the Original of our Passions. 329 


Concerning the Original of our Passions. 

§ I. Prop. A O enquire into the original of our passions. 

§ 2. Sul. 1 . They may arise either from the motion of the 
body, impressions on the senses, or operations of tiie muid by 
■which ideas are produced : as the sight of beauty, hearino- of 
music, or understanding a proposition. 

§ 3. 2. From ideas recollected by the memory, which may 
be accompanied with some degree of pleasure or pain, which 
they at first gave. Lect. 8. § 1 4. 

§ 4. 3. From the exercise of reason, which apprehends a 
probability of approaching good or evil^". 

§ 5. Schol. 1, The second and third source arise from the 
first ; since there could have been no memory nor reasoning-, 
without ideas presented to the mind as the ground- work of its 

§ 6. 2. Some think the passions may be raised by means of 
the body, when no particular idea is presented to any one of the 
senses ; that is, only from the temperature of the body : v. g, 
when we find ourselves cheerful or sad, and cannot assign any 
reason for it : which if it be admitted, may in the judgment of 
some make it dubious, whether the first idea in the human mind 
be, as Mr. Locke maintains, an idea of sensation. But it may 
perhaps be answered, we have a sense of the temperature of the 
body ; and that we are seldom in our waking hours destitute of 
some sensible impressions, which are at diflPerent times painful 
or pleasant, in different degrees, according as our organs are 
disposed •'. 

§ 7. 3. The passions cannot be immediately excited or sup- 
pressed by our volitions, but consequentially they may ; espe- 
cially those arising from the third spring, by which some arising 
from the two former may be balanced ". 

^ 8. 4. It is queried, why objects are often found to affect 
the passions less when they are grown familiar, than they did 
before. — To this it may be answered, that admiration in a great 
measure proceeds from the novelty of objects. Perhaps in other 

» Des-Cartes de Pass. part. ii. ? 51. I b Locke'sEss. I. ii.c. i, ? 23, 25.. 

■ WAxrs on the Pass. I 3. p. 10—17. | c Des-Car ifis de Pass. I 45-47. 



Part i. 

instances it may be owini^ to some unknown connection between 
making the first impression on the brain and the excitation of 
the passions. Yet it is observable, that the degree in which we 
are impressed, is by no means proportionable to the novelty of 
objects alone ; it depends much more upon the temperature of 
the body, and a variety of other particulars. 

§ 9. Jx. We find by experience that our minds are so con- 
stituted, that some degree of passion or desire is necessary to 
action ; so that an entire suspension of them would be attended 
with a staQ-nation of all our faculties ^ 

§ 1 0. Cor. It must be of the greatest importance, in order 
to influence men to a due course of action, to know how to 
awaken or moderate their passions by proper application to 
them ; and those who act as if they desired entirely to eradicate 
the passions, are ignorant of the constitution of human nature, 
and can expect but little success in their attempts to work upon 
the mind ^, 

§ 1 1. Schol. 1. Mr. Locke maintains that desire is always a 
state of uneasiness : but it is certain, that in many cases the un- 
easiness is abundantly overbalanced by a probable prospect of 
the immediate enjoyment of good : and if some degree of unea- 
siness be universally necessary to action, it is very difficult, if 
not impossible to conceive, how any active being can be per- 
fectly happy *=. 

§ 12. 2. We cannot mistake in judging of present pleasure 
or pain, as the incentives of desire or aversion ; but in judging 
of future, Ave often do * •*. 


Concerning the Instinct of Brutes. 

§ 1. Def. W HEN a being is determined to the performance 
of any action, not by a view of the beneficial consequences that 
may attend it, but merely from a strong impulse leading to the 
action itself, that being is said to act by instinct. 

9 Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. vu. ? 3. 

Des-Cartes de Pass. ? 40. 

Spectat. vol. iv. No. 255. 
b Doddridge's Dedication of x Serm. p. 10. 

c Locke's Ess. I. ii. c. xxi. ? 32—34. 

WATTS on Liberty, p. 23—25. 

GRf^VE's Posthum. Wi >rks, voL iv. p. 135, 137. 
d Locke's Ess. ib. i 6l— <35. 

* With Dr. Watts's Doctrine of the Passions, compare a short Theorj' of 
the Passions, by Dr. Thomas Ealguy, in the appendix to liis "Divine Beaevo» 
knee Asserted," anoctavo pamphlet, published in 1781. K. 

LecT. XVII. 

Of Mental Habits. 


§ 2. Cor. 1 . There are many remarkable instincts in man- 
Icindj which greatly tend both to the good of individuals and the 
species, l^hose which are called natural appetites plainly come 
under this class ; to which may be added parental affection, and 
some workings of compassion and gratitude : though it must be 
granted the force of all these is very different in different per- 
sons ^, 

§3.2. Brutes are governed by instinct in many of their ac- 
tions, as Wiis observed above. Led. 3. § 7. The reason upon 
which many of their actions depend, could not be discovered, 
without a penetration far beyond M'hat is to be found in the ge- 
rality of men. iSee particular instances of this in the bee**, in 
the ant% in the wasp '', in the raven% in the formica leo ^, in the 
galli sylvestres s, in the bohaques **, in the fox', in the beaver ''j 
in the turkey hen', in the common hen ■", besides many others". 

§ 4. Schol. 1 . That instinct is not mere imitation, see proved 
by a remarkable story in Galen, apud Ray's Wisd. of God, p. 
349—353. 2 £d. p. 133—135. 

§ 5. 2. It is probable, that in most instances if not in all, 
the actions to which any being is determined by instinct , are 
accompanied with immediate pleasure. 

LECT. xvir. 

Of mental Habits — Perfections. 

§ I . Def. J:\. Mental habit is a facility of thinking or willing 
any action acquired by frequent acts. 

a Baxter's Works, vol. i. p. 379. col. 2. 

AnDi;Y apud Mem. of Lilerat. vol. i. p. 1.5. 

IIirrciiiS'iN's Kiiq. p. ly— I.'t", lyj— 199. 

Elein. of Ciit. vol. i. i). 4^, 44- 

KlsCsOrig. of Evilj'Pncl. bisc. p. 88. 3d Ed. 

Guardian, vol. ii. No. I'.'Ci — 160. 

MORE'j Immjrt. of the Soul. 
b Ray's Wisdom of God, p. 132, 133. 2 £<!. p. 

Nat. Displ. vol, i. p. 16S— 178, 182—184, 
1 9.'^— 21)2. 
c Guardian, vol. ii. No. \o6, 157. 

I'lin. Nat. Hist. xi. 30. 
d Nat. Displ. part i. p. 126—148. 

e Albert. Magnus, apud Crad. Harm, part ii. p. 

f)7. note in the margin, 
f Nat. Disp. part i. p. 234—24/). 
g DERHAM'sPhys.Theol.p.ii29. 

h lb. )). 212. 

i lb. p. 204. 

k Nat. Displ. part ii. p. 106— 114. 

1 lb. p. 23, 24. 

m Spect. vol. ii. No. 120. 

n CiCiiROde Nat. Deor. l.ii. ?48— 50. 

Cambr.w sur I'E.vist. { 23. p. 46, 47. 

Sc Tr"s Christian Life, vol. ii. p. 211— 220. 

Essay on Hunting, p. 53, 54. 

Port's Ethic Epist. iii. ver. 172—198 *. 

* Great light has been thrown upon the properties and instincts of animals bv 
many recent authors. See particularly Buffon's Natural History, PEN^fANT's 
Arctic Zoolog:y, and George Edwards's Works ; to which several otlier productions 
might be added. Many of the Voyages and Travels that have lately been published 
are worthy of beinsc particularly studied in this view. The information ^ivcn by 
Captain Cook, and the other eiicumnavigators of the globe, must not be for- 
gotten. K. 


§ 2. Prop. Mental habits do very much depend upon the 

§ 3. Dem. 1. Memory, furnishing us with ideas and relati- 
ons, makes it easy for us to think upon any subject. 

^ 4. 2. Furnishing us with motives, it makes it easy to 
will it. 

§ 5. 3. When memory ceases, we see that mental habits 
are destroyed ^. Valet propositio. Vid. § 1 . 

§ 6. Cor. I. Mental habits must very much depend on the 
body, since memory plainly does so. Led. 8. § 11. 

§ 7. 2. The facility with which the body obeys the com- 
mand of the mind, is a thing different from mental habit : yet it 
may have some affinity to it, as bodily motion depends upon 

§ 8. 3. No habits can in strict propriety of speech be said 
to be infused ; since it is impossible the first act of any kind 
should be the effect of habit, according to the definition. Yet a 
disposition may be given to perform acts at first with as much 
readiness, as if they had been learnt by long practice *. Neither 
can any habit be properly said to be hereditary : yet there may 
be, and it is plain in fact that there are certain hereditary dispo- 
sitions towards contracting habits of one kind rather than another. 

§ 9. Schol. 1. On these principles some account for the 
phaenomenon which has frequently been observed, that a great 
degree of wit and judgment seldom meet in the same person ; 
because wit is an habit of finding out the resemblance of ideas, 
and making an agreeable assemblage of them ; whereas judg- 
ment is the habit of distinguishing accurately between those that 
have some resemblance, though they really differ. It is not to 
be wondered at, if two such different habits do not ordinarily 
occur in the same mind. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged 
highly probable, that habit is not the only thing that makes the 
difference between various persons in this respect, though it 
may serve very much to increase it^ f. See Lect. 5. § 1 . 

a CLER7CI Pneum. I. i. c. iv. 1 18—22. I Ess. on the Genius of POPE, p. 115—118. 

b LOCKE'S Ess. 1. ii. c. xi. ? 2. I W ATis's ImprQV. of the mind, p. 247—254, 

f OPE's Ess. on Ciit. ver. 53 — 60. | 

* This probably was the case with the apostles and oth.eis, who spoke lan- 
guages which they had never learnt. W. 

f For the different accounts which have been given of wit, recourse may be 
had to the Spectator, vol. 1. No. 38 — 63 ; to Mr. David FoRnYCE's Dialogues on 
Education; and to Lord Kaims's Elements of Criticism, vol. ii. chap, xiii. p. 

60—84. K. 


Lect. XVIII. Of Liberty, Natural, External, Uc. 333 

§ 10. 2. Idiots reason very little, and make few proposi- 
tions ; whereas the madman reasons very much, and often just- 
ly, but upon very precarious and false principles*. 

§ 1 1. 3. The force of habit both mental and corporeal is so 
great, that it is an evident part of wisdom to take care how habits 
are formed ; and it is worth our while to use great labour to turn 
and fix them on the right side ''. 

§ 12. Def. Those properties of any being are called per- 
fections, which directly tend to promote its happiness. 

§ 13. Cor. Only spirits are capable of perfection, since a 
capacity for happiness implies perception, i. e. thought. 

§ 14. Schol. Nevertheless, in an inferior sense, or by ana- 
logy, insensible beings may be called perfect, i. e. as they are 
fitted to answer the purposes intended by them *". 


0/ Liberty^ Natural^ ExternaU Philosophical, Moral and 



§ 1. Def. JL HAT mind is said to be possessed of natural 
LIBERTY, or liberty of choice, which is so constituted, as that its 
volitions shall not be invincibly determined by any foreign cause 
or consideration whatever offered to it, but by its own sovereign 

§ 2. Cor. 1. If any instance occurs, in which the mind can 
chuse no otherwise than it does, it is not in that instance naturally 
free ; though it chuses with the greatest delight, and executes 
its volitions without any restrainf*. 

§ 3. 2. Natural liberty as before defined, includes Avhat 
some have called a liberty of contrariety, as well as oi contradic- 
tion ; i. e. supposes the mind able to chuse the contrary, as well 
as to defer its choice : if indeed these two expressions do not 
signify in fact the same thing, which in some connections at 
least they may * ^. 

a Locke's Ess. I. ii.c. xi. ? 12, 13. 

b I'li.i oisoN's Serm. vol, i. No. '29. p. 301—304. 

boD.'-i.. Praecept. vol.ii. p. 5iy— 526. 

Spectator, vol. vi. No. 44.7. 

Willis, De Anira. Brut. p. 163, 16.i. 
C Wajts's Ontol. c. viii. p. 354, 355. 

d Watts on Liberty, p. 8, 9. 

Ci 'Li INS on Liberty, part ii. Ed. 2. 

LiMBORCH's Theol. 1. ii. c. xxiii. j 20. 

Harti.f.y on Man, p. 500. 

GROvn on Lib. J 10. 
e IIUTCHE.soN's Metaph. p. 22. 

Co.NYB. against TvwD. p. 75. 

* The sabjoct of liberty ahd neces.sity is involved in considerable darkness 
from its very nature, but this definition, with due deference to our author, seeras to 
VOL. IV, T t 


§ 4. Bef. External liberty, or liberty of action is op- 
posed to a constraint laid on the executive powers; and consists 
in a power of rendering our volitions effectual. 

render it still more obscure ; especially the last clause, " but by its own sovereign 
pleasure." The first part of the specific difterence, " Its volitions not invincibly de- 
termined by any foreign cause or consideration whatever offered to the mind," may be 
admitted as essential to moral agency; but to say that the volitions of the mind are 
determined " by its own sovereign pleasure," is language neither serviceable to moral 
agencj', nor even consistent with itself. Volition an effect of sovereign pleasure, or 
pleasure without cause are incompatible ideas. 

There are three questions on this intricate subject, the true solution of which 
seems to have been but little if at all noticed : 

I. Whal is fhr immediate cause of determining the mind''s volitions? In ge- 
neral, it is admitted bj' all that as the projier object of the understanding is truth, so 
the proper object of the will is good. Yet, 

1. Were it always the real good that the mind perceived, the volitions would al- 
ways be accurate ; but this is contrarj' to universal experience. A good infinitely 
real is proposed in words, but the mind often chooses what is of little or no value in 
preference to it. — Nor is it enough to say, 

2. That the mind chooses the greatest apparent good, which is the common 
answer to the question. This is insufficient, because it leaves us in the dark respect- 
ing the true cause why real good does not appear to be so ? Therefore, 

3. It is submitted to the attention of the learned, w hether the actual state of tha 
mnd in the scale of KEcriTVvnhe notthe i77i7nediate caitseoi di^tevimningihe will, [take 
" rectitude" here as applicable to all acts both natural and moral. I said, the " cause" 
of determining the will, not the occasion. The object, whether it be really or only ap- 
parently good, is not the cause; for, fi-om an exhibition of the same object, yea the 
contemplation of the same object, contra/ y cflects follow in different minds, and the 
same njiud at different times. The object therefore is only an occasion of determin- 
ing our volitions. A rectified mind, or a mind in a right state, perceives objects pre- 
sented to it for moral choice as they are, and the volitions will be accordingly. With 
these remarks the next question stands closely connected : 

II. IVhat is the immediate cause of the mind sinking or rising in the scale of 
RECTITUDE ? The true answer to this question will bring us to the root of the subject. 
But how has it been commonly answered ? 

1, Some, from supposed experience, from the acknowledged fact of much evil 
existing, and the high improbability that God sliould determine those volitions which 
are wicked, and perceiving no medium between ascribing all determinations to God 
or to ourselves, have strenuously maintained, according to our author's definition, 
that tlie mind is determined " by its own sovereign pleasure." According to this 
hypothesis, the state of the mind, in reference to the scale of rectitude, is caused by 
(avTJ^yia) self-soi'erei^nlij, or a self-determining power. According to them, by a 
wrong choice our m'nds become erroneous, criminal, and wretched ; but by a right 
choice thej' become rectified, virtuous, and happy. 

2, Others, perceiving the incongruity of such an hypothesis, which ascribes to 
the human mind what they do not experience, and which denies to God the honour 
of directing, with infallible certainty, the universe he hath made to a happy issue, 
have adopted the doctrine of universal necessity. According to this hypothesis, as 
commonly held, the immediate cause of the state of the mind, as found in the scale 
of rectitude, is the object itself, which begets first sensations or consciousness, then 
ideas and associations, and hence volitions, habits, and character. It is not surpris- 
ing that those who think thus should also maintain that God sees no evi) in the 
world, and therefore ihaXthtreis none but in owv feelings ; that sin, an evil im/Toperly 
so ( ailed, shall be at length annihilated, and therefore men and devils will be made 
ultimately happy. For, liovv can that be evil which God causes ? Or why should 

Lect. xviir. Of Liberty, Natural^ External, Kc. 3:35 

§ 5. Cor. Tliere may be external where there is not natural 
liberty, and vice versa ^ 

a Wat is on I ib. p. 4,-'>- 

God cause evil, as felt by us to be so, but in order to make us thereby, as by a whole- 
some discipline, ijnally happy ? 

On the lira and the contra of these hypotheses what loads of learning, ingenuity, 
quibblii)gs, and cjuarrels have been committed to paper and issued from the press. 
During the last century the advocates of liberty have been weakened, and those of 
necessity have gathered strength by the labours of Edwards, Toplady, Priest- 
ley, Crombie, and a hose beside, against Whitby, Fletcher, Gregory, &c. On 
the principles hitherto employed to bring the controversy to a decisive issue, it is 
much more diflicult to discover the source of the truth than it is to find the source of 
the Nile. 

3. With deference, which in no instance is more becoming than in this, after 
the labours of so many eminent characters on the subject, it is proposed to consi- 
deration, whether every right choice has not one uniform cause of determination; and 
a xvrong choice another uniform cause totally ditferent fDm the other ? My answer to 
the question is, the immediate cause of the mind sinking in the scale of rectitude, or, 
which is the same, deviating from the line of rectitude into errors or crimes, is Ubertij ; 
and the immediate cause of the mind maintaining its rectitude, or else rising in the 
scale, is 7ieccssiti/. 

If this be admitted,as I believe it must, every human being on earth is at once, 
in diflerent respects, the subject of liberty and necessity. All decretive necessity is 
from God, and its object is all natural and moral good, in its various degrees and com- 
binations, to the utter exclusion of all moral evil. But all hypothetical necessity 
is not of God, which necessarians in general seem to overlook. The evil of imper- 
fection and the evil of sin, are of hypothetical necessity, but not of God, any more 
than a shadow is of the light, or falsehood of the truth. Again, passive power (by which 
I mean a tendency to defection, essential to every contingent existence, physically, as 
to heing, and morally, as to ivell-being) is not of God, yet of hypothetical necessity; 
and so is the origin of moral evil. 

Decretive necessity does not exclude liberty but employs it; yet liberty may 
exist without decretive necessity, and the result will be hypothetically certain. Thit 
hypothetical certainty arises, not from positive appointment, but from the ascertain- 
able tendency to defection, perceived by the divine mind with infinite precision, 
as a relative contrast. — Another question remains: - 

III. Is there any one instance in zi'htch the mind can choose otherivise than it doesf 
A solution of this question, founded on our aathor''s Jirst Corollary, will explain the 
chief difficulty. To this end observe, 

1. In every instance of zvrong choice the mind is uninfluenced by rfecre/zitf 
necessity, and consequently free from all '' foreign cause or consideration whatever 
offered to it." Yet, 

2. In every such instance there must be a cause in the mind itself which ren- 
ders the event subject to hypothetical necessity. If the mind stand high in the scale 
of rectitude from decretive necessity, it is hj^jothetically necessary that the choice 
will be good in the same proportion. But if the mind stand low in the scale (as it 
always will, from its freedom and passive power, when not decretively supported) it 
is hypothetically necessary, or absolutely certain, that the choice will be wrong. 

3. If the mind be placed exactly in the same state, the object and the representa- 
tion being the same, the choice cannot be different. This is a law of universal ap- 
l)lication. To be free from it would be no excellence, but the reverse. It is the 
glory of God that he cannot lie, and the disgrace of the offender that he cannot cease 

Tt 2 


§ 6. Schol. The liberty of which Mr. Locke generally 
treats, is a liberty of action not of choice, and that Collins ex- 
pressly fallows ^ 

§ 7. Def. Philosophical liberty consists in a prevailing 
disposition to act according to the dictates of reason, i. e. in such 
a manner, as shall, all things considered, most effectually pro- 
mote our happiness. A disposition to act contrary to this is 
MENTAL SERVITUDE : and when the mind is equally disposed 
to follow reason, or act contrary to it, it is then said to be in a 

state of INDIFFERENCE ^, 

§ 8. Cor. Philosophical liberty is a perfection of the mind; 
(See Led. 17. § 12.) since much of our happiness depends on our 
conduct, and by acting according to reason, much good may 
be obtained, and much evil avoided. 

§ 9. Def. A man is said to be morally free, when there 
is no interposition of the will of a superior being to prohibit or 
determine his actions in any particular under consideration*^*. 

a LOCKE'S Ess.I. ii.c.xxi. ? 7— 13,21— 30, 71. I Pers. Sat. v. ver. 124,— 191. 

CuLi INS on Lib. p. 115— 118. Clarke's Serm. vol. iii. No. I. p. 5— 13. Ed. 

Search on Free Will, p. 1 — 71. I 12mo. 

b TiliaTs. Serin, vol. ii. p. b"i7, 616. | c Watts on Liberty, p. 4. 

from sin. While God is infinitely holy, for that very reason his choice will be infi- 
ritelj^ right. As the existence of God is of absolule necessity, and therefore infinitely 
glorious ; so his volitions are of hypolhctical necessity, and infallibly good. 

4. From these remarks we see how far, or in what respect, a liberty of contra^ 
diction, an([ of contrariety can be applied to the human mind. When the state of the 
mind is meliorated bj' a necessitating cause or influence, a real good will be chosen, 
which, identically considered, would otherwise have been rejected. On the con- 
trarj"-, when the state of the mind is deteriorated by passive power and an abuse of 
1 berty> the evil which otherwise would have begn rejected will be chosen. In these 
cases we have a liberty not only of contradiction but of contrariety, if we regard the 
object itself. That is, a man may not only cease to choose, but choose the contrary, 
if he be otherivise minded or disposed. If he be otherwise minded for the better, it must 
be from a decretive, necessitating cause, otherwise God would not be the cause of 
all good; but if for the worse, it must be from passive power and the exercise of 
liberty, ehe man would be self-sufficient. But to suppose that any man has a power 
of choosing the contrary at the same instant, without being otherwise minded, seems 
equally incompatible with fact and reason. 

Cor. Decretive necessity (that is, the purpose, energy, and gracious influence of 
God) is the sole parent of good j but liberty, in miion with passive power, the parent 
of all moral evil. W. 

* From this definition another Corollary may be drawn, i. e. That to be mo- 
rally free, in some cases at least, is a great evil ; so it was to Ephraim, Hos. iv. 17. 
" Epiiraim is joined unto idols, let him alone:" and to be deprived of this freedom, 
in some instances, must be a great blessing ; so it was to Saul the persecutor when 
arrested in his mad career on the way to Damascus. 

From what has been advanced in the preceding notes it would also follow that 
in no case, if we consult merely the happiness of the agent, is the freedom above de- 
fined desirable, though the ends of moral government may be answered by it ; and 

Xect. XVIII. Of Liberty y Natural, External, &(c. 337 

§ 10. Cor. As the same man may be subject to the controul 
of various superiors, one of which may allow what another pro- 
hibits, he may as to the same action be said to be or not to be 
morally free, according to the persons whose will is in question. 
Nevertheless, where there is one who has a much greater power 
and authority over him than any of the rest, it is proper to 
judge of his moral freedotn by considering the will of such a 
superior person. 

§ 11. Def. Complete liberty consists in the union of natu- 
ral, external, moral and philosophical liberty, without any 
struggle or difficulty ^ 

§ 12. Cor. 1. Complete liberty on the whole is a perfec- 
tion. See § 8 *. 

§ 13. 2. Complete liberty seems to consist in a certain sym- 
metry or subordination of the faculties ; and, Avhen applied to 
such beings as ourselves, supposes a serene understanding, mo- 
derate passions rising in proportion to the nature of objects, the 
will chusing to follow such regular impressions, and the execu- 
tive powers readily and vigorously performing its dictates. 

§ 14. 3. When we. speak of complete liberty, it is not so 
])rnper to enquire whether the will be free, but rather Avhether 
the man be so. (See Led. 2. § 26.) Yet natural liberty evi- 
dently belongs to the will ^. 

^ \5. Schol. What some call a liberty of spontaneity, con- 
sists merely in chusing to perform any particular action : nor 
does it at all enter into the question, Avhether we can chuse or 
perform the contrary* But since this is nothing more than 
willing, it does not deserve the name of liberty. 

For the Cartesian notion of it, see Des-Cartes Princ- Par. 
j. § 37 — 39. Watts on Lib. p. 6. 

a Watts on Lib. p. 9—12. I b Lockf.'s Ess. I. ii. c. xxi. J 14—19. 

Clilliber's Enq. p. 47—59. EcL 3. ' | Watts's Ess. No. xii. { a. 

that an infringement of it from divine interposition is always desirable in order to 
our security and happiness, as being that alone by which an abuse of liberty is pre- 
vented, and which is never exercised, properly speaking, but for our good. In strict- 
ness, actions are determined by the will, the will by the disposition, and this last by 
either God's efficient energy, or by passive power. W. 

* The propriety of this (kjinition, and the force of the Corollary drawn from it, 
must stand or fall with what went before. W. 



Of Natural Liberty. 

§ 1 . Prop. JL HE mind of man is possessed of natural liberty, 
i. e. liberty of choice. 

§ 2. Dem. I. We are conscious to ourselves, that we have 
a power of chusing otherwise than we do in a multitude of in- 
stances *. 

§ 3. 2. We universally agree that some actions deserve 
praise and others blame ; and Ave sometimes condemn ourselves 
as conscious of the latter : for which there could be no founda- 
tion at all, if we were invincibly determined in every volition, 
and had it to say, Ave had done the best we possibly could f. 

^ 4. 3. The laws of all nations agree to punish some actions 
in a man who is master of his reason, for which they would not 
punish one whom they knew to be distracted. 

§ 5. 4. When equal objects are proposed to our choice, we 
sometimes determine to chuse one of them rather than another, 
without being able to assign any reason for such a preference ^ %. 
Valet proposiiio. 

a Grovf. of Hum. Lib. ? 13— 16: ( Relii^^on of Nature, p. ez, G%. Ed. 4lo. 

VVATrsonLiberty,J3. p. 2S— 39. J Clah ^E against COLLI.ns, p. 42— 4i. 

* Perhaps no one is conscious of this without supposing a change of mind a.«i 
the basis of the other supposed choice. W. 

f This second step of the demonstration is extremely ambiguous; we will sup- 
pose, however, 

1. That we are invincibly determined to good by a meliorated state of mind; in- 
stead of lessening desert of praise, this invincibility of determination would increase it. 
The more holij the state of any rational mind is, the more invincible the determina- 
tion to good. And surely goodnrs.i or /wliness of mind is praiseworthy. This alone 
can justify confidence in a good man, or supreme trust in God. Again, 

•2. Suppose a man had it to say, that he had done the best he possibly could; 
this would not exculpate him except he could say moreover, that his having a bad 
state of mind was not blameworthy. A man cannot be sober at the same instant 
when he is drunk ; a man in the height of malevolence cannot be benevolent the same 
instant; a man who is passionately furious cannot be meek; one who hates God and 
his neighbour cannot love either; eyes full of adultery cannot be chaste. But is this 
invincibility to evil excusable ? Rather should we not say, the more tn-cincible the 
determination to evil, the more heinous the evil ? 

3. In fact our author does not distinguish properly between a decretive and 
hypothetical necessity. Not the latter would take away blame, as may be specified 
in a thousand instances, in addition to those above mentioned, however invincible 
the determination may be, but the former only. When he speaks of " the best we 
possibly could," he overlooks different kinds of possibility and impossibility, yet a dif- 
ference must be admitted. W. 

X Here are two things inndmissihle; that two or more objects maybe perfectly, 
or in all respects equal; and there is no ground of preference, except we can assign 


Of Natural Liberty. 


§ 6. Cor. The will is not determined, as some have asserted, 
by the last dictate, or rather assent of the understanding, nor 
the greatest apparent good, nor a prevailing uneasiness, which 
last seems to coincide with the former^ *. 

§ 7. Schol. 1. To this it is objected, that we are formed 
with a necessary desire of happiness, and consequently cannot 
chuse any thing but Avhat in present circumstances appears most 
conducive to it : and experience is appealed to as confirming 
the assertion, since we are always in fact most inclined to what 
we chuse. This must be acknowledged a considerable diffi- 
culty. It is granted that what we chuse must have some ap- 
pearance of good : but the mind appears in fact, as well as from 
the reasoning in the proposition, to have a power of preferring a 
smaller present to a greater absent and future good, though at 
the same time it condemns itself of folly in such a choice ; which 
it could never do, if what it chose always appeared to be the 
greatest good ; since then in every choice it would act accord- 
ing to the necessary impulse and constitution of its nature. And 
tliough we allow that there is always a greater inclination to 
what we chuse than what we refuse, yet till this inclination be 
proved invincible, the proposition may hold good''. 

§ 8. 2. To the argument from self-accusation Collins re- 
plies, that it is only the sense of having acted against some rules, 
which on reflection we apprehend it would have been better for 
us to have followed, though it did not appear so when we did 
tlie action. — But how then could conscience condemn us, not 
only in our after reflections, but in the act itself ? or how could 
we condemn ourselves for having done foolishly in chusing what 
did appear to us the greatest good, and could not but so 
appear '^ ? 

§ y. 3. It is objected to the argument, § 4. that punish- 

a Watts on Lib. p. 17— '23, 25—2^. 

LOCKK'sEss. 1. ii. c. xxi. §35,36. 

Or Ar-.Kf: at Hoyi.e's Lect. p. i)7— 100, 

Clarke and Leibnitz, p. 403— .'(,15. 
b TuRRETiNi', vol. i. Loc. X. Q.U. ii. J 7, 15, 16. 

CoiL.on Lib. p. 40 — 4K 

Burn, on the Art. p. 1 17, 118. 

Watts on Lib. p. 70—74. 

Grove on Lib. }l«, 19. 

Grove's Mor. Thilos. vol. i. p. 205—214- 
Maclaurin's Newtonian Philos. p. 81 — 84- 
Cl.ARKE and Leibnitz, Append. No. 3. 
Law's Theor. p. 9 — 11. Note. 
Ca TO's Letters, vol. iv. No. 3. 
c Collins, ib. p. 105, 106. 
Grove's Post. Works, vol. iv. p. 93—143. 
pnes. ?3 — 7, and {21. 

it. Yet however lihe two objects may be in the view of an objector, he must allow 
that he was differenlUj minded towards what he chose, than he was towards the other; 
and t!iis is an assignable cause of the choice. Besides, to deny a difference is to 
establish idt-ntily. W. 

* If the objections made to the demonstration be well founded, the doctrine 
of this Cyro//(;r^ must of course fall. AV, 


ments are often inflicted where it is granted there is no liberty 
at all, as on lunatics, drunkards, and brutes, 

Ans. It may be debated how far it is proper to call the se- 
verities used with them in some cases punishments, or how far 
they may be destitute of all natural libert}^ But as for Col- 
linses argument, that were man a free creature, rewards and 
punishments would signify nothing, because it would lie in his 
own breast to slight them ; it is most evidently weak : for ne- 
vertheless, they would be a probable means of answering their 
end, and that they are not always effectual, is evident in fact\ 


On Liberty of Indifference. 

§ 1. Schol. 4. JL O the fourth argument (which is generally 
called choice i/ a^io.'^ofix) it is answered by the opposers of natu- 
ral liberty, that no such case can occur that two objects should 
appear entirely equal : and if there did, then a choice would be 
impossible ; for that would imply an effect without a cause, or 
a balance turning when the weights are equal. — But this is evi- 
dently taking the question for granted : for it will not be allowed 
that willing is a necessary effect, M'hich must imply a compell- 
ing efficient cause ; or the mind like a balance to be moved 
■with weights. And as to the fact in qitestion, a cause which we 
cannot assign is to us no cause : and yet in many such cases we 
determine ''. 

§ 2. 5. It is farther pleaded that such a liberty would be 
an imperfection to the human soul ; because it would suppose 
it in some instances to act without reason. 

Alls. Our scheme of liberty supposes a power of chusing 
rationally in all instances ; of seeing and preferring a greater 
good ; and chusing of two objects equally good, one, where 
there is reason for taking one, though not for taking this rather 
than thai : whereas to deny this is plainly to limit the mind in 
its power of choice and capacity for happiness in some instances. 
Yet I think (though we allow that some particular pleasure 
may arise from the consciousness of having used this natural li- 
berty aright, when it might have been abused) it must be 

a COLLINS ib. p. S6— RS, 91—98, 

LEiBSiTii Tiieod. J 67—72. 
b COLLINS, ib.p. 44^52,57—59. 

Watts on Lib. p. tiS — ^70. 

CLARKE and Leibmtz, p. 38, } I. p. 93—95, 

ICl— 123, 160, 173—177, 291. Append. No. 

4, P. p. 105, n 4, 15, p. '^81— 2S7. 
Cicero de Fato, ? 24,^25. 
Jackson on J-ibcrty, p. 193 — 196. 

Lect XX. On Liberty of Indifference , 341 

granted, that a power of chusing worse rather than better, is 
not necessary to the happiness of any being. But is mankind 
in such a perfect state, that we are under a necessity of main- 
taining that it could not have been greater or happier than it is^ ? 

§ 3. 6. The sentiments of many considerable moderns may 
be seen in Collins on Lib. p. 14 — 31. and those of several an- 
cients in Collins, ib. p. 39 — 62. Jackson on Lib. p. 82 — 91, 
yS — 113. Lucas's Enquiry, vol. i. p. 163 — 185, 130 — 135. 
Hutch. Metaph. Syn. c. iv. p. 22, 23. compared with p. 57. 

§ 4. 7. What Mr. Locke's notion of Liberty on the whole 
was, is much debated. The truth of the matter seems to be, 
that he changes his idea of it; sometimes meaning external li- 
berty, of which he generally speaks, (see Lect. 18. 6.) sometimes 
philosophical, (as in the place quoted above, 1. li. c. xxi. § 49.) 
and sometimes he seems to recur to the notion of natural liberty 
again, especially when he says in so many words, that freedom 
consists in not being under a necessary determination of our will 
in any particular action, (§ 51.) and in a power of suspension, 
(§ 52.) by which last manner of stating it, he seems not to throw 
any light upon the question ; since all the difficulty attending a 
possibility of determining to act one way or another, will attend 
a possibility of determining to act or not to act''. 

§ 5. 8. Those who believe the being and perfections of God, 
and a state of retribution, in which he will reward and punish 
mankind according to the diversity of their actions, will find it 
difficult to reconcile the justice of punishment with the necessity 
of crimes punished. And they that believe all that the scripture 
says, on the one hand, of the eternity of future punishments, 
and, on the other, of God's compassion to sinners, and his solemn 
assurance that he desires not their death, will find the difficulty 
greatly increased. But as many of the words here used are not 
yet strictly defined, nor the evidence of the propositions stated, 
it may suffice briefly to have suggested the thought *= *. 

a Collins, ib. p. 62—83. 

WATrs, ib. p. 70—74. 

CoLllBF.R's tntjuiry, [j. 50, 51. 

Locke's Ess. I. ii. c. xxi, 8 48 — 52. 

Clarke at BOVLR'sLert. p. 119—121, 
b Locke's Fain. Epist. p.474, &c. prxsertp.4S0. 
c Cato's Letters, vol. iv. No, 110, 

Jackson's Reply, passim. 

Hartley, on Man, vol, i. p. 500 — 511 f. 
Sterry on Free Will. 
West's Serm. No. iii. 
Nye on Nat. and Rev. Rel, 
Search on Free Will 536—42. 
Ramsay's Phil. Princ.voi. i. prop, 36. 
Jjuchal's Serm. vol. i.p. lijj, 
Edwards on the will. 

* To notice all the particulars of the Scholia under this propositiou which call 
for animadversion, would swell these notes too much; and it is presumed, if the 
principles of the preceding ones be duly considered, that it is needless. The stu- 
dious reader, if not already master of the work, will not fail to peruse Mr. Jonathan 
Edwards on the Freedom ol the will ; a work, as far as it relates to the subject of 
these two Lectures, of interesting importance. W. 

f Since the preceding Lectures were written, the question concerning liberty 
VOL. IV. U u 


On Philosophical Liberty. 

§ 1. Prop. JL HE philosophical liberty of the mind is much 
impaired, and we are obnoxious to a lamentable degree of ser- 
vitude. Led. 18. § 7. 

§ 2. Dem. 1. The understanding is often so far influenced 
by the passions, as to be unwilling to enter on reasonings, which 
may seem to lead to a conclusion contrary to our interest. 

§ 3. 2. The passions and prejudices of our minds insensibly 
mingle themselves with the whole process of reasoning when it 
is undertaken, leading into many embarrassments and incon^ 
sistencies, obscuring truth and gilding error ; so that frequently 
the judgment is formed vipon a very unfair hearing, agreeably 
to the bias the mind is under, and contrary to the evidence that 
might have been obtained. 

§ 4. 3. We often find it difficult to excite our passions at 
the command of reason, and to fix them on objects, which appear 
to our utiderstanding most worthy of regard : on the contrary, 
they are often excited by such objects, as the understanding has 
been by irresistible evidence compelled to disapprove, and 
thereby we are led to commit actions, which, while we do them, 
%ve condemn ourselves for. 

^ 5. 4. Bodily constitution and appetite have sometimes 
almost a constraining power to hinder the execution of the 

and necessity lias again received a most copious and acute discussion. See Jona- 
than Edwards's Enquiry into the Freedom of the Will ; — The Doctrine of Philoso- 
phical Necessity illnstnUed, by Dr. Priestley ; — A Free Discussion of the 
Doctrine of Materialism and Philosophical Necessitj'', in a correspondence between 
Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley; — Observations in Defence of the Liberty of 
Man, as a moral agent, by tlie Rev. John Palmer; — Dr. Priestley's Letter 
10 Mr. Palmer, in Defence of bis Illustrations; — Mr. Palmer's Appendix to 
his Observations; — Dr. Priestley's second Letter to Mr. Palmer ; — Mr. Ja- 
cob Bryant's Address to Dr. Priestley, upon his "Doctrine of Philosophical 
.Necessity Illustrated;" Dr. Priestley's Letter to Mr. Bryant; — Dawes's Fiee 
Enquiry into the Meritsof a Controversy between Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley; — 
The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity briefly invalidated ;— Re id's Essays on 
the Active Powersof Man, p. 267 — 368. — The notes to the new edition of Hartley 
on Man ; — Belsham's Essays, Philosophical, Historical, and Literary, vol. i. p. 
] — 15 ; — Essays, Philosophical and Literary, by Dr. Gregory of Edinburgh ;— and 
Enquiry concerning Political Justice, vol. i. p. 283 — 317. — Roiherham's Essay on 
JIuman Liberty; — Dr. Benjamin Dawson's " Necessitarian ;'' — Remarks on Dr. 
Oreoory's, of Edinburgh, Philosophical and Literarj' Essays; — Butterworth's 
Thoughts on Moral Government and Agency; — and Mr. Crombe's Vindicat ion of 
Philosophical Necessity. K. 


On Philosophical Liber tu. 


■wisest volitions. Yet it must be acknowledged, this impulse is 
not invincible : Ave may stop ourselves in the career ; and enter 
upon a contrary course : so that upon the whole, the way to 
Jiappiness is rather difficult than impossible^. See Led. 17, § 
11. and Lect. 19. § 1. 

§ 6. Cor. It is plain from these pha?nomena, of which expe- 
rience may convince us too surely, that the symmetry of the 
soul and subordination of its faculties mentioned Led. 18, § 13. 
in which complete liberty consists, is in a great measure vio- 
lated in the human soul. But whether it were originally in the 
same state, cannot be determined till we have examined other 
previous propositions''. 

§ 7. Schol. 1. It is greatly debated, how far the will has, in 
our present state, any influence on the judgment, in assentitig 
to any proposition in question. Some maintain that it cannot 
have any influence at all, but I think experience proves the' 
contrar}^ : and though there must be some shew of argument to 
determine the judgment, yet it seems to be the consequence of 
that natural liberty asserted. Led. 19. § 1. that the mind can 
divert itself from examining proofs, which are likely to establish 
a disagreeable proposition ; and by labouring to confirm and 
embellish arguments on the favourite side of the question, can 
bring itself to assent to what it wishes to find true, though vastly 
superior evidence on the contrary side were fairly within its 
reach. Yet it must be acknowledged, that this remark only 
takes place in propositions which have some certain limited de- 
gree of evidence, since there are some cases in which the truth 
will invincibly force itself upop the i»nderstanding, and no arti* 
tifice can be sufficient to evade if^. 

§ S. 2. Many actions of brutes seem to discover some de- 
gree of liberty ; but how far they are possessed of it, seems im- 
possible for us to determine, since all the principal proofs of the 
natural liberty of the human mind arise from what passes within 
ourselves, and what we learn by discoursing with other men ; 
and not merely from what we observe in their most rational or 
capricious actions ^. 

a LocKP.'s E!»s. I. ii. c. xxi. ? 47, 56—59, 
b Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xxi. } 53 — 55. 

Si i-.n'sSerm. vol. ii. p. 339— 344. 
C Coi.l.lNS on Lib. p. 33—36. 

CiiRici Piieumat. 1. i. c. iii. ? 14. 

Law 's Theory of Rel. p. 15—17. Note in. 

Watts on Lib. p. 13 — 16. 
LocKi.'a Ess. 1. iv. c. xx. { 6, 12 — 16, 
Ci ARKF. and Lfibnit^, p. 403 — 415. 
d REYNAULT'g Pliilo*. Cunvers. vol. 

b'.;— b7. 

111. p. 

UU 2 


On the Imperfection of our Knowledge, 

§ 1. Prop. JL HERE are many particulars in which the know- 
ledge we have of our own minds is very imperfect, and we are 
as it were a mystery to ourselves. 

§ 2. Devi. 1. We know not what our soul is, otherwise 
than by its operations ; but are not able to determine what that 
constitution is, from whence those operations proceed, or what 
particular and distinct idea is to be affixed to the \\ox(\ principle ^ 
if we call it, as many do, an intelligent or conscious principle. 
See Ltct. l. § 8. § 14. Lect. 2. § 1. 

§ 3. 2. We know not how the soul is united to the body, 
or what connection there is between impressions made upon the 
organs of sensation and the ideas arising in our minds, or be- 
tween the volitions of our minds and the consequent motions of 
our bodies. Lect. 2. § 27. 

§ 4. 3. We know not certainly how ideas are laid up in the 
memory : it is not demonstrably evident that there are traces 
in the brain correspondent to those ideas : Lect. 8. § 7. but if it 
were, how recollection is performed, and in many cases why 
one idea is recollected rather than another, is not possible for 
us to say. Lect. 9. § 8. 

§ 5. 4. It still remains in some degree an uncertain ques- 
tion, whether we think always or only by intervals. Lect. 13. 

§ 6. 5. It is extremely difficult to remove all the objections 
against liberty of choice, especially against that which is stated 
Lect. 19. § 7. 

§ 7. 6. The question wherein personal identity consists, how 
plain soever it may have appeared to some, has been differently 
determined by different persons of great learning and abilities ; 
and is after all attended with some perplexities, perhaps chiefly 
arising from what is mentioned above. Fid. § 2. Lect. 12. 

§ 8. 7. The phoenomenon of dreams does also contain some 
very unaccountable things. How ideas are then suggested to 
the mind, in the reception of which we are entirely passive ; 
how dialogues are formed ; and how the moral principles of 
action seem to be suspended, even while we continue to reason, 
(though often after a Avild and inconclusive manner) upon cir- 
cumstances and events in which we imagine ourselves to be 
engaged "*. Fid. Lect. 4. § 7. 

a Baxter on the Soul, vol. ii, \ 1. 8vo Ed. 

X.ECT. XXII. On the Imperfection of our Knowledge. 345 

§ 9. 8. The phfenomenon of phrensy is likewise very un- 
accountable, and how the state of the nerves and uices of the 
body at that time should so strangely affect our rational powers, 
and make us creatures so very different from ourselves. Lect, 
4. § 8. Vfllet propositio. 

§ 10. Schol. 1. The like may in some degree be said of the 
imperfection of the knoAvledge we have concernmg our own 
bodies: in which, though great improvements and discoveries 
have been made, some very important questions still remain un- 
decided, V, g. By what mechanism animal secretion, respira- 
tion, and muscular motion are performed : whence the systole 
and diastole of the heart arises : what is the use of the spleen and 
the ccecum : not to mention the rationale of many distempers, 
about which many celebrated physicians are much divided; and 
almost the whole doctrine of the nerves. 

§ 11. 2. The phaenomena mentioned in the proposition and 
the preceding scholium serve to illustrate Lect. 1 1. § 3. and add 
a very important article to it. 

§ 12. Cor. 1. It becomes us to maintain a deep and con- 
stant sense of the ignorance and weakness of our own minds, 
M'hen we always carry about in the very constitution of them and 
our bodies, such affecting demonstrations of it. 

§ 13. 2. Since such a modest sense of our weakness and 
ignorance will have a great tendency to promote the honour and 
happiness of our lives, by teaching us to avoid many instances 
of arrogance and self-conceit, which expose men both to enmity 
and contempt; therefore pneumatology, M-hich leads us into 
this humbling view, is a noble and useful study. (Compare 
Lect. 4. § 9. Lect. 11.^3. and Lect. 21 . § 1 . 

§ 14. 3. If we should hereafter prove the existence of any 
being vastly superior to us, and especially of a being possessed 
of infinite perfections, it must be expected that there will be 
many things relating to him, which it is not possible for us fully 
to explain or comprehend ; and our enquiries concerning such 
a being ought to be pursued with great modesty and humility^. 

a Bl'TtXR's Serm. p. 303—105. I JONVAl's Letter, apud Nat DispL vol. i. part 

Spectator, vol. viii. No. 590. | "Z. p. 2y3, cSic. 



Part ii. 

PART 11. 


On the Existence of God. 

^ ! . j4x. At is impossible that any thing should of itself arise 
into being; or that it should be produced without some produc- 
ing cause, existing in order of time, as well as of nature, prior 
to the thing so produced: or in other words, which must not 
only be considered before the effect, in order to understand it 
thoroughly, but must also be supposed to have existed before it, 

§ 2. Def. That is said to be a self-existent, or neces- 
sarily EXISTENT BEING, which docs uot owe its existence to 
any other being whatsoever, either as its cause or its support, 
but would exist, or be what it is, were there no other being \\\ 
the whole compass of nature but itself''. 

§ 3. Schol. It seems safer, in this momentous argument on 
which we are now entering, to acquiesce in this general and 
v^imple idea of self-existence, gradually deducing from thence 
other ideas connected with it, than to state it, as Dr. Clarke 
has done, " That which cannot so much as be imagined not to 
exist, or that which has necessity for the cause of its existence ;" * 
since if there be any self-existent being at all, it seems not pro- 
per to ascribe its existence to any cause whatsoever''. 

§ 4. Cor. ] . If any self-existent being does noAv exist, it 
has existed from all eternity : for if it ever began to exist, it must 
(^y § *•) have owed its existence to some prior being as its 

« Claiikf. at BoYi.F.'s r.ect. p. 17, 18. 
Burnet ib. vol. i. p. 7, 8. 
King's Oiig. wf Evil,p. 18, 19. N0.4.. 

b Law's Enquiry, p. 147 — 150. 
ABrn.sEiiiv's Seim. vol. i. p. 191 — 193. 
Dubl. Ed. p. 203—205. Lond. 
King's Ong. of Evil, p. 67—71. 

* It is more accumte to say, " that which has sAm/j^^c necessity for the reason 
nf its existence;" for every other existence claims tome necessity for its cause, i. e, 
hypothetical,— —W . 

Lect. xxni. On the Existence of God. 347 

cause, which is plainly contradictory to the notion of self- 
existence stated above. 

§ 5. 2. If there be or ever has been any self-existent being, 
it is also everlasting, i. e. it will never cease to be. For dissolu- 
tion must arise from something external or internal : but nothing 
external can dissolve that which depends upon no other being 
for Its support : and no imaginable reason can be assigned, why 
there should be any internal cause of dissolution in that being 
which has (by § 4.) existed from eternity, or which was indeed 
in any single past moment self-existent and independent : which 
is so plain, that, whoever may have denied the existence of a 
self-existent being, none have ever asserted, that there was such 
a being, and that his existence is now extinguished and lost ; or 
that there is some self-existent being, which, though now sub- 
sisting, will at length be destroyed or dissolved of itself. Yet it 
must be owned that a late writer, who seems determined to 
carry scepticism to the greatest excess, has presumed to call this 
matter into question % 

§ 6. 3. If there be any self-existent being, it is also immut' 
able. For since a being is the same with all its properties taken 
together, {Led. I. § 7.) if any property were taken away from 
it, a part of the being would perish, which is inconsistent with 
its being necessary ; (§5.) or if any properties were added, the 
being itself would not be eternal, and therefore not necessarily 
existent ''^ (§ 4.) 

§ 7. 4» There is no medium between a self-existent and 
derived being: or in other words, whatever exists at all is either 
self-existent or derived. 

§ 8. 5. The existence of every derived being may at length 
be traced up either mediately or immediately to what is self- 
existent, which in order to its producing it, must according to 
the Axiom have existed before it- (§ I, 7.) 

§ 9. 6. From the Corollary above it will follow, that what- 
ever is eternal is self-existent. 

§ 10. 7. To maintain ^ series or succession of derived be- 
ings from eternity, is most absurd: for every series supposes 
some first, and to su])pose that first to be derived is self-con- 
tradictory, (as above, § 8.) with this farther absurdity, that the 
greater the series, the greater support it will need, as a chain 
consisting of many links will need a greater support than one 

a ITiiME'sPhilos. Fssays, p. 253. | Abern. vol. i. p. 196— ?00. Dubl. Ed p 20i~ 

b Caotz. Log. vol. i. p 4'^6. J ailJ. Lond. 



Part ii. 

consisting but of a few such links : and should a circle of causes 
be supposed, instead of solving it will if possible increase the 
absurdity; since this would suppose every cause in the circle to 
have produced itself, and all the other causes too\ 

^ 11. Def. That is said to he simpliy mfinite in its kind, 
which has no bounds; or than which nothing in its kind can be 
conceived greater : but if it be conceived as bounded in some 
respects and unbounded in others, then it is said to be only in- 
finite secundum quid, as a line infinitely produced one way from 
a given point: but this is a very improper sense of the word**. 

§ 12. Cor. Whatever is self-existent, has all its properties 
infinite. (See § 2.) For if it be necessary in any time or place, 
(if it be its nature to exist in time and place) it must be neces- 
sary at all times and in all places; and since, whatever its other 
properties are, to set bounds to them, is to assert its non-existence 
beyond those bounds, whether of power, wisdom, &c. it seems 
extremely probable, not to sav certain, that what hinders its 
existence beyond those bounds might hinder its existence en- 
tirely. But it could not be a self-existent being, if its existence 
might have been hindered, or could be destroyed •=, 

§ 13. Schol. 1. On much the same principles, Mr. Grove 
directly infers, that a being necessarily existent must be infinitely 
perfect. Some perfections it must have, or it could not be any 
thing at all; and for the same reason that it has any one perfec- 
tion, and in any one degree, it must be possessed of all possible 
perfections, and in all possible degrees. But this is a point of 
so great importance, that we chuse rather to infer it from other 
mediums of argument, than to rest the whole stress of it upon 
such a deduction: especially as upon the principles of Lect, 17. 
§ 13. this argument can have no place, till it be proved that what- 
ever is self-existent is percipient, or endued with thought*^. 

§ 14. 2. It is disputed, whether our idea of infinite be a 
negative or positive idea. Some have pleaded, that bounds im- 
ply a negation of continued existence beyond them, and conse- 
quently by removing this negation we form a positive idea^. 

§ 15. 3. It may also be queried, whether our idea of in- 
finite be a simple or compound idea: yet I think it may more 
properly be said to be a simple idea, as no addition of finites 

a Clarke at Boyle's Lect. p. tl — 14. 

WOOLAS r. Rel. of Nat. p. 65 — 68. 

King's Orig. of Evil, ]). 42, &:c. 
\) LoCKi.'s Ess. I. ii. c. xvii. i 1 — 3. 

Watts's Ontol. c. xvii. 
c CLARKE ib. p. 4jS, 439, 462, 463, 465, 466, 

4ba— 476. 

d Grove's Post. Works, vol. iv. p. 7. 

Howe's Living Temple, part 1. c. iv. 8 2, 3. 
e CAMBRAYsur I'Exist. p. 379 — 383. 

Locke's Kss. I. ii. c. xvii. J 13, 16 — 19. 

King's Orii;. of Evil, p. 14, 89. 

Ramsay's i'jinc. iv,. 

Lect. XXIII. On the Existence of God. 349 

can make up an infinite. It will be difficult to find out any idea 
more simple. 

§ 16. Prop. Something has existed from eternity. 

§ 17. Dem. 1. It is evident that something does actually 
exist : v. g. we knov/ that we ourselves do. Lect. 1 . § 1 . 

§ 18. 2. If something has not existed from eternity, the 
things which now are must* have arisen absolutely from no- 
thing, and without any producing cause, contrary to § 1, 

§ 19. 3. We are certain something has existed from 
eternity ^ 

§ 20. Schol. It must be acknowledged extremely difficult 
to conceive of any thing having existed from eternity ; yet 
since there are such evident proofs of it, we learn that a thing 
may be true, the manner of which is entirely inconceivable to 
our limited minds, or against which some objections may lie 
which to us are unanswerable ^, 

§ 21. Prop. There has from eternity existed some self- 
existent or necessary being. 

^ 22. Dem. 1. There has from eternity existed something, 
either self-existent or derived. See § 7, 16. 

2. If there were not so evident an absurdity as there seems 
to be, in supposing a derived being eternal, yet its existence, 
(even granting its eternity, and much more evidently sup- 
posing it not to be so,) may be traced up to a self-existent 
being, which as self-existent is eternal *=. Valet propositio. § 2. 

§ 23. Schol. The proposition follows directly from § 9. 
but we chuse to keep it in its present form ; that if any should 
think there may be an eternal necessary emanation from a aelf- 
existent principle, as many have maintained, the foregoing pro- 
position might rest on a foundation not to be affected by such an 
apprehension ^. 

a Cr.ARKE at Boylf.'s Lect. p. 8, 9. 
Abern. Serm. vol. i. p. J84— 1«7. Dubl. Ed. p. 
195—198. Lond. 
b Clarke at Boyj.e's Lect. p. 9—11. 

c Ramsay's Princ. Pr. 1. 
d onivertfal Hist- Ancient Pa^t. Introd. p. 5. 
Oct, £d. 







The World not Eternal. 


§ 1. Prop. JL HE system of things which we call the material 
world, did not exist from eternity in its present form, but had a 

§ 2. Dem. 1. We may not only conceive of many possible 
alterations which might be made in the form of it, but we see it 
incessantly changing ; whereas an eternal being, for as much as 
it is self-existent, is always the same^. Led. xxiii. § 6. 

§3.2. We have no credible history of transactions more 
remote than six thousand years from the present time: for as to 
the pretence that some nations have made to histories of greater 
antiquity, as the Egyptians, Chaldeans, Phoenicians, Chinese, 
&c. they are evidently convicted of falshood at large in 
Stillingfleet's Orig. Sacr. p. 15 — 106. Millar's Propag. of 
Christ, vol. i. p. 100 — 112. Pearson on the Creed, p. 58 — 60. 
Jenkins of Christianity, vol. ii. preface, p. 4 — 11. Allix's Re- 
flections, vol. i. p. \)5 — 1 20. Winder's Hist, of Knowledge, vol. 
ii. passim. Lucretius, 1. v. A-er. 325 — 330*. 

§ 4. 3. We can trace the invention of the most useful arts 
and sciences ; which had probably been carried farther, and in- 
vented sooner, had the world been eternal''. 

§ 5. 4. The origin of the most considerable nations of the 
earth may be traced; i. e. the time when they first inhabited the 
countries where they now dwell: and it appears that most of 
the western nations came from the east '=. 

§ 6. Schol. If it be said that deluges, pestilences, conflagra- 
tions, he. destroy men with their inventions, it may be answer- 
ed, (1.) If the world were eternal, there must have been an im- 
mense number of these devastations, and it is amazing (if there 
be, as this hypothesis supposes, no superior being that presides 

a CiARKE at BOYi.E's JLect. p. 32, 23. 

Coi.LiB. on Souls, Ess. v. § 1. 
^ Plin. Nat. Hist. 1. vii, viii. 

iucRET. 1. V. ver. 331— '339. 

Nichols Conf. vol.i. p. 76— 87. 12mo. p.45— 
51. Oct. 

CHeyne's Princ. c. ii. i 24. p. 63— 6S. 

Burnet's Theory, vol. i. p. 54 — 59; 

COLLIB. ib. 

c Newton's Chronology passim. 
Patrick on Genesis, c. x. 
Wells's Geog. of the Old Test. vol. i. c.iii. 
Pearson on the Creed, p. fiO, 61. 
Peuezon. Cumberland, de orig. Gent. & 
BocHART's Phaleg, passim. 
MicHAELis's Specilegiuin Geographis He- 
brsEorum, passim. 

* The Hindoos make great pretensions to a very high antiquity, and credit has 
been given to their assertions?. But the extravagance of then- chronology has been 
shewn by the best of all judges. Sir William Jones, as maybe seen in his Disserta- 
tion on the subject, published in the second volume of the Asiatic Researches. K. 

Leg T. XXV. The World not Eternal; continued. 351 

over them, that they should not liave destroyed the whole liuman 
race. (2.) If any had survived, the most useful arts would have 
been preserved *. 


The World not Eternal; continued. 

§ 1. Dem. 5, JL HE projectile force of the planets is continually 
diuiinishing, by the resistance of the fluid through which they 
pass, i. e. the rays of light; which are every where diffused 
through all parts of their orbits in so vast a quantity, that multi- 
tudes of them fall on bodies too small to be discerned by the 
naked eye, as appears by microscopical observation. Now if 
we allow this diminution in the projectile force in one year or 
age to be ever so small, there must be a finite time m which it 
will be utterly destroyed; and consequently had the present 
system of things been eternal, (since on this supposition the 
same laws of nature must have prevailed) the planets would long 
ago have fallen into the sun''. 

§ 2. 6. The sun is continually losing some of its light, and 
consequently must long ere this time have been reduced to utter 
darkness, if the world had been eternal. If it be said, that every 
ray of light after a certain elongation falls back into the sun ; 
we answer, some of them must in their return strike on the 
planets, falling on their dark hemisphere, by which means they 
would be absoi-bed, and the decay would be real though more 
gradual, according to the reasoning above. If it be answered, 
that there may be some kind of fewel provided, as suppose co- 
mets, by which the sun is fed ; we reply, that fewel is or is not 
exactly adjusted to the expence of his flame; if it is not ex- 
actly adjusted, if too little, the consequence urged above will at 
length though still more slowly follow ; if too much, the sun 
growing continually hotter, the earth and other planets must 
have been burnt up, and so an argument against its eternity will 
arise in another form, from the ever-growing heat of the sun: 
but if the adjustment be exact, it will be such a proof of design 
and government in the works of nature as would be so greatly 

a I.UCRF.T. I. V. ver. 339—35?. I b Watts's Ess. No. x. J 1. p. 242—245. 

Pi ARSON on the Creed, p. 61. margin, I Cheyne's I'riuc. c, ii. i 2U. p, 63 — 5Sk 

Rcligionof Nat. p.9I, W. j 

Xx 2 



Part ii. 

serviceable in another view, that any friend of religion might 
■willingly spare this argument against the world's eternity, when 
there are so many others unanswerably strong. And it may be 
observed, that a similar train of reasoning may take place as to 
some following particulars *. 

§ 3. 7. Since it is probable that the fixed stars and the sun 
attract each other, had they been eternal, they must long ere 
this have met in the centre of gravity common to the whole uni- 
verse. And nearly akin to this, is the argument which may be 
drawn from the effect of the nearest access of the earth to Mars, 
or any other superior planet ; in consequence of which it might 
be supposed to be drawn by such attraction a little from its 
orbit; the eccentricity of which would by this means be con- 
tinually increased, till the earth were utterly destroyed. The 
like argument may be applied to the other planets, and especial- 
ly to Saturn: but the thought is in general so much the same, 
that it has not been judged necessary to insist upon it''. 

§ 4. 8. Sir William Petty has attempted to prove that 
the number of mankind doubles in 360 years: but though the 
exactness of his computation should be doubted, if there be any 
periodical and constant increase at all, it will prove the world 
not to be eternal ; as from a limited distance of lime it must e'er 
now have been over-run with human inhabitants. Some have 
indeed maintained a decrease since the Augustan age : but if it 
could be proved that mankind do actually decrease periodically, 
or that the increase is exactly balanced, this argument will stand 
on the same footing with § 2. As for plagues, by which some 
suppose the balance to be made, if we may judge by what we 
know of their history, the diminution of mankind by them bears 
but a very small proportion to its increase, as computed by 
Petty ^ 

§ 5. 9. Many substances are continually petrifying and 
ossifying ; so that, had the world been eternal, the whole earth 
■would have been but one stone, or the petrifaction must have 
ceased of itself. But if it be said that these stones dissolve, 
and so there may be a kind of circulation ; it is answered, 
that stones grow in one year, which do not dissolve in many 

The argument from the waste of fluids by the growth of 
animal and vegetable bodies is much the same as this, so far as 

a Cheyne's Princ. c i. ? 42. p. 95—98. c. ii. i 19. 
p. 51, 52. 
Watts's F.SS. No. X. } 2. 
b CHEYNr.'s Princ. c. i. i 22. p. 5&— 60. 
c Nicu. Conf. vol. I. p. 62— 7tJ. Oct. Ed. p. 36—44- 

Chkyne's Princ. c. ii. i 25. p. 68—72. 
Pi.RS. Lett. vol. ii. p. 148 — 158. 
Retl. on Polj'g. Diss. vii. 
CoLLiB. ib. £ss. V. 

Lect. XXVI. Spinoza's Doclrine confuted. 353 

there is .any solidity in it : but it may be queried, whether the 
dissohition of those bodies, and separation of their consistent 
fluids in a scries of years, may not answer this ^. 

§ 6. 10. Hills are continually subsiding, which will in some 
finite time reduce the world to a level. If it be objected, that 
this is balanced by earthquakes, &c. which raise mountains ; it 
is answered, the number of these so raised is comparatively 
small, and they being hollow would soon be washed away''. 

§ 7. 11. According to the best calculations which have been 
made, comets appear on an average at least in 30 years ; but 
whether this account be exact or not, if their return be periodi- 
cal, there would within an imaginable time have been more than 
a thousand millions cutting the earth's orbit in various directions ; 
in consequence of which the earth must have been exposed to 
such danger, either of being drawn into the sun or separated 
from it, tliat, without a particular providence, which this hypo- 
thesis opposes, its destruction must have happened long since. 

§ 8. 12. If the world be eternal, it is hard to account for 
the tradition of its beginning, which has almost every where 
prevailed, though under different forms, among both polite and 
barbarous nations ". 

LPXT. xxyi. 

Spifwza's Doctrine confuted. 

§ I . Cor. 1 . JL HERE must Iiave been some great and excellent 
being, superior to this whole material system, by which it was 
reduced into that beautiful order, in which it now appears. 

§ 2. 2. Hence we may infer the vanity and falsehood 
of Spinoza's doctrine, who asserts, that the whole and every 
part of the material world is a self-existent being : for he ex- 
pressly says, that one being or substance could not be produced 
by another, and that all things could be in no other order and 
manner than they are, i. e. that all things in their present form 
are necessary, and therefore eternal. Lect. 23. § 4, 6. 

a NicH. Conf. vol. i. p. 51—55. Oct. p. 30—32. 

Coi.LiB. ib. 

Ci.ARK oil Fluids, p. 271, 272. 
b NicH. Conf. vol. i. p. 55— /i2. Oct. p. 32— 3S. 

Ray's hUc. iNo. iii. p. 344—364. 

MouNTrAUC.Trav. p. 377, 378. 

BiiRN. Tlieoiy, vol. i. p. 51 — i3. 
C llAi.Ks Orig.of Man, J 2. c. xii. § 3. c. i. 

Gru 1'. du Ver. 1. i. J )(i. p. 2i;— 40. 

Burnet's Arch. I. ii. c. i. p. 273—285. 
Du-PiN's Hist, of the Church, vol. i.e. i. 12mo. 
d Ci ARKE at Boyle's Lect. p. 26—29. 
Camb. sur I'F.xist. p. 202-207. 
T< >l.ANO's Pantheisticon, p. 5 — S, 54, 55. apud 
.SYKKs's Connect, c. iv. p. 64 — 83. 
ORl'll.Carm. ap. Apul. Op.{de Mundo,)p. 190. 
Ramsay's App. to Phil. Princ. vol. i. p. 497, &c 
Campbell's Necess. of Rev. p. 36t). 



Part ii 

§ 3. Schol. 1. Those arguments which Redi, Malphigius, 
and several modern philosophers have advanced against the doc- 
trine of equivocal generation either of animals or plants, have 
often been urged as conclusive against the eternity of the world : 
and if they will prove, that every animal or plant of the present 
generation was not only contained in its immediate parent, but 
together with that parent in the remoter generation, and so on 
perpetually, it might indeed prove, that, how small soever the 
bodiesliow grown up might be at any given time, there is a cer- 
tain distance of generation, at which the organized body con- 
. taining them and all intermediate generations, each bigger than 
the embryo in question was at that time, must have been bigger 
than even the whole mass of the earth. But it may be answered, 
that allowing no animal or plant to rise into visible form but 
from pre-existent parents of the same kind, it may nevertheless 
in its first stamina be formed anew, from some fluid before mak- 
ing an unorganized part of the adult parent ; and in that case 
there will be no peculiar force in this argument, as lymg against 
the eternity of the world ; for that which arises from the exqui- 
site workmanship of an animal body, and the absurdity of suppos- 
ing it produced from any fluid or solid merely by mechanical 
laws, properly belongs to another question ^. 

§ 4. 2. Neither do we argue from the probability that the 
torrid zone would have taken fire j which is examined in Ray's 
3 Disc. p. 381 — 388. 

§ 5. 3. We likewise wave those arguments which are taken 
from the supposed absurdity and impossibility of the world's 
having been actually eternal, or having existed through an infi- 
nite succession ; because the same objection seems to lie against 
everv thing which is said to be eternal, and the argument turns 
on the supposition, that an infinite is made up of a number 
of finitcs''. 

§ 6. 4. Some of the ancients, who speak of the eternity of 
tlie world, do not seem to intend it in the sense in which Spi- 
noza asserts it. The arguments are designed to prove either 
that something must be eternal, which is ail that those of 
Ocellus Lucanus amount to, or that the world is a necessary 
eternal effect flowing from the energy of the divine nature, which 
Aristotle seems to have thought ; or that it was an eternal vo- 
luntary emanation from a supreme and infinitely perfect cause, 

a REr>i de Gen. Insect, pass. 

NlEUWENT. Rel. Phil. vol. i. c. xvi. ? 9. 
Bentley at Boyle's Lect. Serm. iv.p. 127, ad fin. 
CllEYNF.'s Piinc. c. ii. i'H. p. tiO — b3. 
Ray's Wisd. of God. p. '.jy8— 3J«i. 

V.\REN. Geog. vol. i. p. 226. Engl. 
Bur I hoggi'. on the Soul of the World, p. 30—38. 
b Burnet on the Art. p. 19, 'ia 
CiAUKE at Boyle's Lect. p. 35—37. 
COLLIB. ib. arg. 5. 

Lect, XXVII. Motion and Self -existencenot essential to Matter. 355 

"whicli was the opinion of Plato's followers. Nevertheless 
there is reason to believe, that some of them were properly 
Pantheists, in the same sense in which the term may be applied 
to the present followers of Spinoza ^*. Compare § 2. 

§ 7. 5. If any objection should be brought against the se- 
venth argument, from the supposed infinite number of celestial 
bodies, which would occasion an equal attraction every way ; we 
must refer the examination of that till we have proved that 
matter is not infinite, to which we shall quickly proceed. 

Motion and Self-existence not essential to Matter. 

§ 1. Def. iL HAT is said to be an essential quality, which 
cannot cease, unless the being itself should be supposed to be 
destrojed ''. 

§ 2. Prop. Motion is not essential to matter. 

§ 3. Dem. (I.) 1. It is evident that when we have abstracted 
the idea of motion from any particle of matter, there will still re- 
main the idea of extended solid substance, i. e. it will still be 
matter. See § 1. and Lect. !• § 9. 

§ 4. 2. If motion be essential to matter, then motion must 
either be an equal tendency every way, or a prevailing tendency 
one way. 

§ 5. 3. An equal tendency every way would certainly pro- 
duce rest. 

§ 6. 4. A prevailing tendency one way rather than another 
must arise from some external cause, and if these motions were 
various, from causes that act in various manners, and not from 
the necessary nature of body or matter itself. Therefore, 
§ 7. 5. Motion is not essential to matter =. 2. E. D. 

§ 8. Dem. (II.) Another proof may be drawn from the vis 
inertitr, which Baxter has proved to be essential to matter, and 
which is directly contrary to necessary motion. This arTument 
is stated at large in Baxter on the Soul, and as it cannot conve- 

a CLARKeatB0YLE'sf.ect. p. 29^-35. 

Nichols's Conf. vol. i. p. ZJ— 36. Oct vol. 

i. |). rj— 20. 
Ra.msay's Princ. Pr. 17. 

b Watts's Lo?. p. 17, 18. 

c TO( AND's Lett, to SEREN. No. 5. p. 186'— 20?. 
Clarkl at Boyle's Lect. p. '2i, ','5. 

* A concise and elegant view of tlie tlifferent opinions of the ancient philoso- 
phers ou this sub'cct, nmy be road in Dr. Enfield's History of Philosophy. K. 


niently be contracted here, we chuse to refer to the author 

§ 9. Cor. Since it appears that matter does move, (still sup- 
posing the reality of the material world) it is evident there must 
be some first mover, i. e. some superior immaterial being, from 
whom its motion is derived. 

§ 10. Schol. The argument which Toland brings, in the 
pas-sage cited above, to prove motion essential to matter, 
amounts to little more than the universal gravitation observed 
to prevail in it ; but this may be sufficiently accounted for, by 
supposing it always impressed upon it by the Creator, and that 
it might at his pleasure be suspended, though no single particle 
of the whole material world should be now exempted from the 

§11. Prop, Matter is not self-existent or necessary. 

§ 12. Dem. 1. Tangibility, solidity, or resistance is essen- 
tial to matter. Led. I. § 9. 

§ 13. 2. If all space were full of matter, how fine soever 
the particles were, there must be on every side an invincible re- 
sistance to the motion of any one of those particles. 

§ 14. 3. But we plainly see that there is motion in the cor- 
poreal world. 

§ 15. 4. There is therefore a vacuum ; as will be farther il- 
lustrated in the scholium. 

§ 16. 5. But if matter were self-existent ornecessary, there 
must be an universal plenum. Led. 23. § 12. 

§17. 6. Matter is liable to continual changes in its place, 
contexture, situation, &c. which is inconsistent with its being 
self-existent. Led. 23. § 6. 

§ 1 8. 7. Matter is not self-existent ''. Q. E. D. 

§ 19. Cor. There must be some immaterial self-existent be- 
ing, by whom matter was at first created, supposing it now 
really to exist. See Led. 27, § 9. Led. 23. § 8. 

§ 20. Schol. A vacuum may further be proved from the dif- 
ferent specific gravity of bodies, compared with the vibrations 
of pendulums of unequal bulk and equal length in equal times : 
V, g. one of ten pound vibrates just as fast as another of one 
pound whose rod is of the same length ; it has therefore just ten 

a Baxter on the Soul, c. i. 

b CLARKF.atUoYLE's Lect. p. 503, 504, 23, 2S. 

COLLIBi'.R's Enq. p. 258—261. Edit. 3. 

BfiifT. at BOYLE'S Lect. 6. p. 2U— 213. 

Howe's Living Temple, part ii. c. 2. i 5. 
Baxt. on the Soul, vol. ii. i 3. prxs. p. 345-*' 
351, 356—359, 373—383. 

Lect. k^tviir. On Thought not the Effect of Matter, Uc. 357 

times the momentum or force of motion, i. e. ten times the gra- 
vity ; for here it is gravity, that gives it the force ; or in other 
words, the gravity is as the quantity of matter : when therefore 
the gravitv under the same bulk is unequal, it proves there is 
more matter in one mass than in the othei', and consequently 
pores (at least) in the Hghter, though the heavier were to be sup- 
posed entirely solid : and the experiment of the feather and 
guinea descending together in the exhausted receiver establishes 
the argument on the same principlai ^. 


On Thought not the Effect of Matter, but of a Self-existent 


§ I. Ax. JLf any being be the producing cause of another be- 
ing, not merely occasionally, but by its own power, it is very 
reasonable to suppose, that it was more excellent or perfect 
than its production, or at least equally so. 

§ 2. Cor. Seeing a thinking substance as such is more ex- 
cellent than a substance destitute of thought, it is not to be ima- 
gined that spirit should be produced by a being which is not 
jpossessed of thought. 

§ 3. Prop, it is in the nature of things utterly inconceivable 
and incredible that thought should necessarily arise from matter. 

§ 4i Dem. 1 . If thought could proceed from matter, it 
must either arise from the general nature of it, or must be pe- 
culiar to matter in some certain configuration and agitation. 

§ 5. 2. Thought cannot arise from the nature of matter in 
general ; for then every particle of matter would have thought, 
which is evidently false and ridiculous to affirm. 

^ 6. 3. Any supposed alteration in the figure of the particles 
of matter, v. g. from squares to cubes, or cones, &c. has no ap- 
parent influence on the production of thought. 

§ 7. 4. Motion in general added to matter cannot produce 
thought ; for then almost all matter known to us, being actually 
though not necessarily in motion, and some of it in a woriSerful 
swift agitation, must be cogitative, contrary to fact. 

a CiAr.KE at BoYLr.'3 Lect. p. 503, 504. | MUSCH. Nat. Phil. c. iii. 8 81--6S. 

VOL. IV. y y 


§ 8. 5. The changeW its motion, v. g. from a straight line 
to any kind of curve, or vice versa, or its collision against other 
particles of matter, seems to have no tendency to produce 
tho Light \ Falet propositio. 

§ 9. Cor. Since we are sure there is such a thing as thought, 
Led. 1, § 10. this is another argument independent on Led. 27. 
§ 19. to prove that there is some immaterial being*'. See Lect. 

23. §1. 

§ 10. Schol. 1. It is to no purpose to object, that there may 
be some unknown connection between certain modifications of 
matter and thought, from which thought may necessarily result, 
or that it may be produced from some unknown properties of 
matter, though not from those which are known ; seeing many 
things are utterly incredible, which cannot be proved to be ab- 
solutely impossible. 

§ 11. 2. If it be further objected, that it is as inconceivable 
that matter should arise from thought, as thought from matter ; 
it may be answered, that Ave are sure in fact, that, if there be 
any material world, matter is moved by thought, though we 
know not how it is done, and that it was actually produced by 
some immaterial being, Lect. 27. § 19. but it cannot be proved 
in fact that thought is necessarily produced by matter, or that 
any thinking being has been mechanically produced from mat- 
ter itself ; though we allow that according to the constitution of 
some superior being thought is occasioned by it, i. e. that there 
is a certain wonderful harmony between impressions made on 
the material parts of our frame, and thought ; and that think- 
ing beings are produced bv a superior cause on certain con- 
currences in the material world ". 

§ 1 2. 3. It may not be improper here to collect the proof vvc 
have had of the existence of an immaterial being, which arises 
parti}' from the motion of matter, Lect. 27. 9, and its exist- 
ence, § 1 9. and also from the existence of thought, which mere 
matter could not produce, § 9. compared with § 2 of this. 

§ 13. Prop. We are not ourselves necessary or self-ex- 
istent beings *. 

a AnF.RN. Serm. vol. i. p. 107— 117. I I.ockf.'s Ess. 1. iv. c. x. § 10. 

- Bentley at BOYt E's Lect. Serm. 2 p. 15—26. b Benti.ey ib. p. 29—36. Oct. p. 68—74. 

Oct. K.d. p. Ct'i — (38. I c SH APTS. Char. vol. ii. p. 29(5. 

Clarke ib. p. 52—57. | Baxt. on the Soul, vol. ii. p. 350, note. 

* A formal demonstration of a proposition so extremely plain maj' be justly 
thousht unnecessary. W. 

Lect. xxviir. On Thought not the Effect of Matter , Kc, 359 

§ 14. Dem. 1. It is evident, we are lately bom into this 
world and there U no proof of our existence before. 

§ 15. 2. We evidently appear to be dependent on every 
thing about us. 

§ 16. 3. The capacity and sentiments of our minds, as well 
as the powers of our bodies and our external circumstances, are 
almost continually changing. 

§ 17. 4, But every self-existent being is eternal, indepen- 
dent, and immutable. Lect. 23, § 4, 6. — Therefore, 

§ 18. 5. We are not self-existent ^ 2. E. D. 

§ 19. Cor. 1. There is some self-existent being, from whom 
we mediately or immediately derive our existence, and to whom 
ultimately we owe all the faculties of our nature and all the en- 
joyments of our lives. Lect. 23. § 8. 

§ 20. 2. There is great reason to believe that this being is 
naturally much more excellent than we. 

§ 21 . 3. It is evident that as we are already under great ob- 
ligations to this being, so we have a constant dependence upon 
him for every future period and circun^stance of our existence, 

§ 22. 4. It must be of the greatest importance for us most 
attentively to enquire after him, and to study his nature and 
properties, that we may if possible secure an interest in his fa- 
vour ''. 

§ 23. Prop. That self-existent being, from whom our ex- 
istence was ultimately (derived, § 19. is a spirit. 

§ 24. Dem. I. Originally au4 primarily to produce a be- 
ing is an action. Lect, 2. § 7. 

§ 25. 2. That must be a spirit, whereby any being whatso- 
ever is originally and primarily produced. Lect. 2. § 9. 

§ 26. 3. Our spirits were produced by some self-existent 

being. § 19. 

§ 27. 4. To suppose a thinking being produced by an un- 
thinking cause, would be more evidently absurd than to suppose 
an unthinking being so produced. § 2. 

§ 28. 5. That self-existent being, from whom our existence 
was ultimately derived, is a spirit •=. 2. E. D. 

§ 29. Schol. Though it seems more proper to state the evi- 

a Camb. sur I'Exist. p. 185—188. I c Clarke at Boyle's Lect. p. h^Sl 

% Camb. sur I'ExisL p. Ib8, Wi. \ Abernethy, vol. i. Sena. iv. 




dence of this important proposition thus largely, it is in effect 
contained in § 20. since nothing that is not a spirit can be more 
excellent than our minds. 


The Being of God proved froyn the existence of the material 
World and universal Consent. 

§ 1. Def JL HAT self-existent spiritual being, by whom we 
and the material world about us were originally formed, we call 

God \ 

§ 2. Cor. It appears from this definition that our idea of God 
is very complex, and is made up of many ideas arising both 
from sensation and reflection*"*'. 

§ 3. Prop. There is a God. 

§ 4. Deyn. (I.) l. The matter, of which this world or system 
consists, was originally created by a self-existent immaterial 
being. Lect. 27. § 19. 

§ 5. 2. This matter was first put into motion by some supe-. 
rior, i. e. self-existent being. See Lect. 27. § 9. and Lect. 23. § 8, 

§ 6. 3. This material world Avas reduced into the beautiful 
form wherein it now appears by some being superior to it, 
Lect. 26. § 1. 

§ 7. 4. There is no reason to assert, nor has it ever that we 
know of been maintained by any, that the being, by whom 
the matter of our world was at first produced, was a different 
being from that by which it was at first moved and brought 
into the order in which it now appears. 

§8.5. Our spirits were also derived from some self-existent 
spirit of superior excellence and perfection. Lect. 28, § 19, 20. 

§ 9. 6. There is rio apparent reason to believe that the spi- 
rit, by whom our spirits were originally produced, is a being 
different from that, by which this material world about us was 
created and formed. 

a Vanini Ampb. p. S— 10. apud I Shaft. Char. vol. ii. p. 10, 11. 

COLLIB. Inq. p. 243, 244. I b Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xxiii. 533— 36. 

CUDWORTH's Intel. Sjst. civ. p. 207. | 

* On the subject of this corollary see Lect. vi. % 8. Note. 

Lect. xxTx, The Beingo/Godprovedfrom the Existence J ii,c. 361 

§ 10. 7. There is some self-existent spiritual being, by 
Avhom we and this material world were formed ; i.e. there is a 
God\ § 1. aE. D. 

§11. Cor. I . God is a being more excellent than the ma- 
terial world, or than we, or than any other spirit, which may 
hereafter appear to be derived from him. See Lect. 28. § I. 

§ 12. 2. There is something so great and excellent in self- 
existence, joined Avith a degree of other perfections superior to 
those which we can discover in any derived being whatsoever, 
that it seems most safe and reasonable, in all our further inquiries 
into the nature of God, to ascribe to him what appears to us 
most noble and excellent, and to separate from our ideas of him 
whatever is defective or contemptible; i. e. in other words, to 
conceive of him as a being of infinite perfections: but of this 
more fully hereafter ''. See Lect. 23. § 1 2, 1 3. 

§ 13. Dem, (II.) The being of a God proved from univer- 
sal consent. 

1 . Almost all men of every place and age have acknow- 
ledged a God, learned ov unlearned, polite or barbarous, pious 
or wicked, fearful or courageous; and nations that have differ- 
ed most in their genius and customs have generally agreed in this 
important point. 

§ 14. 2. This opinion n^ust arise from prejudice or from 
right reason. 

§ 15. 3. It is exceeding difficult or rather impossible, to 
find any prejudice common to all who have embraced this 
opinion. Fear could not affect the courageous, nor the inven- 
tion of politic princes, princes themselves, or barbarous nations ; 
blind credulity would not affect the most philosophic inquirers, 
nor religious hopes men of impious characters ; and as for the 
authority of one person affirming it, how could the notion have 
been so universally' propagated, or merely on this authority so 
universally believed ? If education infused it through succeed- 
ing generations, why has it been so much more uniform than any 
thing else which is supposed to be so transmitted* ? 

§ 16. 4. It does not appear that particular prejudices can 
be assigned to suit the case of all particular persons. 

a Locke's Ess. 1. iv. c. x. J 1— C. I b Howe's Liv. Temp, part \. c. iv. 

Young's Night Tlwuglus, No. ix. | Grove's Posih. Works, vol. iv. p. 7, 

* How far the universal consent of the being of God is a fact, may now parti- 
cularly b« traced from the number of late voyages aud travels to all parts of the 
world, and to men in all Oie forms of society. K. 



Part ii. 

§ 17. 5. This opinion does not appear to arise from pre- 

§ 18. 6. It seems founded on right reason; i. e. there is a 
Gods Q. E. D*. 

§ 19. Schol. The different notions that men have main- 
tained of the deity, and the opinion of many concerning a plural- 
ity of Gods, is urged as an objection against the argument stated 
above : but it may be answered, that their difference in other 
things makes their agreement in this great principle so much the 
more remarkable; and it is certain there is not such an agree- 
ment in any false notion of the deity, or plurality of Gods, as 
there is in his existence in general : to Avhich we may add, that 
the wrong notions particular persons have entertained concern- 
ing him may often be accounted for by the variety of their 
genius, condition, education, &c^. 


The Being of God proved from the works of Nature. 

§ 1. Dem. (III.) JLN which the being of a God is proved from a 
brief survey of the works of nature. 

§ 2. Lem. This system of things, which we call the visible 
world, is full of beauty, harmony and order. 

§ 3. Dem. of Lem. I . This appears by a survey of the heaven- 
ly bodies : in which we may distinctly consider their magnitude, 
number, due situation, that they may not interfere with one an- 
other, and may lay a foundation for certain astronomical dis- 
coveries, which would otherwise have been impossible, had there 
been a perfect similarity in situation and size : especially in our 
system we may remark the sun, that glorious fountain of light 
and vital influence, by which most of the other beauties of the 
creation around us are discovered ; and the various planets with 
which he is surrounded ; in which we may more particularly 

a WiLK. of Nat. Rel.p. 41—49. p. 52—61. 
Tll.t.iiTs. Works, vol. i. p. 14r— 17. 
Locke's Ess. 1. i. c. iv. i 8, 9. 
LouBiERE's Siam, part 3. c. xxii, xxiii. p. 130 — 

Burnet on the Art. p. 17, 18. 
Ga.strel of Nat. Relig. p. 26—38. 

RIDG ley's Divin. vol. i. p. 12 — 14- 
MlLi.AR's Prop, of Christ, vol. ii. p. I6l, 
Spectat. vol. v. No. 389. 
b VVli K. Nat. Rel. p. 49—52. 
Burn, on the Art. p. 18, 19. 
TiLLOls. Works, vol. i. p. 17, 18. 

* Whether we ascribe this universal, or at least general consent, to tradition, 
to intuitive perception, or to reason, still there must be some idea of positive infinity 
as the ground of con\iction, except where idolatrous notions have been held.-— -^W. 

Lect. XXX. The Being of Godproved from Nature. 363 

observe the correspondence between their distance from the cen- 
tral body about Avhich they revolve, and the times in which their 
revolutions are performed, i. e. that the squares of their periodi- 
cal times are as tlie cubes of their distances ; the supply of moons 
to most of the distant planets, with the addition of a ring to 
Saturn ; the agreement both of primary and secondary planets 
in a spherical figure ; as well as the agreeable variety that is 
observable in their size, and other phenomena relating to 
them ^. 

§ 4. 2. The proposition appears from a view of the globe 
of the earth : in which, not to urge the gravitation of bodies on or 
near its surface towards its centre, which is common to our whole 
system at least, if not to the whole material Avorld, and is the 
great cement of it, we may more distinctly consider its diurnal 
and annual motion ; the atmosphere Avith which it is surround- 
ed ; its constituent parts, as it is a terraqueous globe, and com- 
posed of bodies of very different kinds, lodged upon or beneath 
its surface''. 

§ 5. 3. The vegetable productions, Avith which the earth is 
furnished, so various, beautiful and useful''. 

^ 6. 4. The animal inhabitants of it: in which we can 
never sufficiently admire the organs of sensation, especially the 
eye and ear, the organs of respiration, of motion, those for re- 
ceiving and digesting the aliment, and those intended for genera- 
tion and the nourishment of the foetus. In the inferior animals, 
it is wonderful to observe, how their different organs are fitted ^ 
for those different circumstances in life for which they are in- 
tended, and especially to the elements in which they are cliiefly 
to live. To this head may be referred what was before said of 
their various instincts, Lect. 16. § 3. to which we may farther 
add the limitation of their instincts, as well as animal sensations, 
■within such degrees, as the convenience of tlie animal requires. 
(Vid. Ess. on Man, part 1.) But above all, in human creatures 
Ave may justly admire the faculties of the mind, as aa-^cII as the 
structure of the body, both Avhich have been largely considered 

§ 7. 5. On the whole it may be observed, that the more 

a Df.rham's Astr. pass. 

N II u WENT. Rel. Phil. vo\. iiU 

Rav of Great, p. 61—68. 

Nat. Uisp. vol. IV. 

Baxt. Malho. 

Abf.rn. vol. i. Serm. i. 
b at BoYiE'sLcct.p. 264r— 273. 

NlF.uw. Rel. Phil. vol. ii. Cont. i7. p. 367—4,13. 

CtaHAM's Phys. Theol.p. 4-^is. 

Keil's Astron. Lect. xxi. sub init. 298, 299- 
c Nat. Uisp. vol. i. Dial. I4, 15. part 2. p. 158- 

Ray's \\ isd.of God, p. 100—114, 207— 2ri 

Derh. P' \ Theol. p. 401—424. 

Desne's^ in. Dn Vcget. 
d Monro's Cjinp^u. Anat. pass. 

D£RH.AM's Phys. TheoL \ti^. 



Part ir. 

philosopb}^ is improved and enquiries pursued, the more is the 
harmony and regularity of the works of nature illustrated, and 
the more evidently does it appear, that objections formerly made 
against them were owing to the ignorance of those that advanced 
them ^. 

§8.6. As these things are Avonderful Avhen considered 
apart, so when the whole is considered as a S5'stem, and in re* 
ierence to man, for whose use this earth arid what it contains 
seems principally to have been designed, many comparative 
beauties arise, n-hich in a separate view^ could not have been' 

§ 9. Schol. 1 . These arguments are set in so strong and beau- 
tiful a light in the works of Ray, Derham, Nieuwentyt, 
Baxter in his Matho, and in De la Pluche's Nature Dis- 
played, especially in the first and fourth volumes, that they de- 
serve a most attentive perusal at leisure*^. 

§ 10. 2. As to those objections, which are brought from the 
noxious qualities of some vegetables, animals, or exhalations, 
from the limitation of our senses, from the helpless circumstances 
in which human infants are born ; as well as from our being 
subject to diseases and death; besides those arising from the 
asperities of the surface of our globe, and the inclination of the 
axis of the earth to the plane of tiie ecliptic; the}' are most of 
them so evidently weak, and capable of being retorted as beau- 
ties rather than defects ; and they are all so well considered and 
confuted in the following references, that we shall not more dis- 
tinctly examine them here ^. 

^11. 3. The noble powers and properties of the humao 
mind are well worthy of being mentioned here, as a production 
incomparably more glorious than any thing in the vegetable of 
brutal creation. It may something assist our thoughts here, td 
consider how the face of nature is embellished and improved by 
the arts which mankind have introduced into life, and how much 

a Clarke at Boyi.e's I.ect. p. 57, 58, 108— Ul. 

Nat. Dis',1. vol. i. p. 13—15. 
b Shaft, char. vol. ii. p. SJ85 — 290. 
c Ramsay's Cyrus, b. ii. Zoroast. 1st Disc, 
d Luc RET. 1. V. ver. U'6 — ','35. 

Blackm. on the Creat p. 7S — 9'2. 

Bentley at Boyle's Lect. Serm. iii. p. 10 — 17. 
0«t. Ed. p. 83—90. 

Ibid. Serm. viii. p. 22—40. Oct £d. p. 83—90. 

bii ,fT. Char. vol. ii. p. 298- 30y. 

Ray on the Creat. p. 2^*) — 255. 

I\ i.i I 's K\ un. of Burn. Theory, pass. 

roi'ii's tss. on Man, fcpisl. i. ver. 165 — 1&8. 

U 1! KiNS's World in the M on. 

(:■'; i'ni\. p. 92 — 94. 

I'Oi IGN. Anti-Lucret. pass. 

Ci ARKE on the Orisin of Evil, p. 160. ad fin 

jirxs. p. ItiO— 202, 233—264. 
MoRE's Div. Dial. No. ii. {4--'4. 
KElMARUSon Nat. lielig. pass*. 

* The many cuiioiis volumes which have recently been published in the dif- 
ferent parts of natin-al history may be read in this view, though tbcy are not, ittge* 
neial, applied by the authors of them to the purpobcs of religion. K. 

Lect. XXXI. Proofs of the Being of a GodfromNature^ S(c. 365 

entertainment is given mankind by producing them as the effect 
of their own art and labour, beyond what they could find in 
them merely as the product of nature*. 


Proofs of the Being of a God from the Works of Nature 
and Divine Interpositions. 

§ 1. Dem. III. Jl ROOF of the being of a God from the works 
of nature. 

1 . Seeing the world was made, it is universally allowed that 
it must have been produced by chance, or design. Lect. 24. § 1 . 

§ 2. 2. Chance is entirely an unmeaning expression, unless 
we ascribe that to it which is produced by mechanical laws, 
. without the contrivance and purpose of the thinking being, 
whose agency may be the means of producing it**. 

§ 3. S. It may generally be expected, that whatever is 
thus produced should be very confused and imperfect, especially 
when the effect is very complex. 

§ 4. 4. This world, though a very complex system, is full 
of beauty, harmony and order, incomparably superior to any 
work which Ave see produced by the design of the most curious 
artist. Lect. 30. § 2. 

§ 5. 5. It is most incredible that it should be produced by 

§ 6. 6. It was produced by the design or counsel of some 
intelhgent agent. 

J 7. 7. If any derived being were supposed the immediate 
former of the world, he must ultimately owe his wisdom and 
power to some original and self-existent being*. Therefore, 

a Derham's Phjrs. Theol. b. v. c. i. p. 226 & 61 I b Watts's Ontol. p. 332. 

— 65. I Bkn iLEY at Bayle's Lect. Serm- v. p. i>— 13. 

Locke on Government. j Oct. Ed. p. 14.7 — 153. 

Aberneihv's Sermons on the Being and M- Ablrs. on Attrib. vol. i. p. IS, 19. 

tributes of God. | 

* St. P.\ul draws a similar conclusion, in order to show that the Heathens 

are inexcusable, Rom. i. 19, 20. An eternal |iower and Godhead may be clearly in- 

/errerf, because clearly 5<?cn. But icAo sees this? Man, not the brute j man, to whom 

an intuitive perception of positive infinity is accessible, when he is not overpowered 



§ 8. 8. The frame of the world proves that there is a 

§ 9. Dem. IV. A deity proved from the marks of divine 
interposition which appear in the support and government of 
the world. 

§ 10. Lem. The author of Matho lias illustrated this topic 
of demonstration with incomparable strength and beauty : but 
some of his arguments are of such a nature as to be more pro- 
perly mentioned in another place. 

§11. 1. This appears in the continuance of the centripetal 
and projectile force of the planets, as a mutual balance to each 
other ; neitlier of which appears necessary in itself, though a 
failure of either would be attended with a general ruin : and this 
thought appears with a force greatly increased, when we consi- 
der the various composition of that four-fold motion, by Avhich 
a secondary planet revolves about its primary, while both re- 
volv^e about the sun**. 

§ 12. 2. In preventing the alteration of the obliquity of the 
earth's axis, or its receiving any other detriment from the ap- 
proach of comets or any other cause ; and likewise in prevent- 
ing the inclination of the moon's orbit from becoming greater, 
or the moon itself from being brought nearer to or carried 
farther from the earth ; any of which alterations would be at- 
tended with fatal consequences, especially the two last of them, 
which might be most easily efi'ected by a comet's approach «=. 

§ 13. 3. In regulating the winds, so as may be for the pre- 
servation and benefit of the earth ; though we are not able to 
assign any certain laws by which it is effected ■•. 

§ 14. 4. In the due proportion which is observed between 

a I.rcRET. 1. V. ver. 417— 449. I cot lib. Inq. p. 1I9, 120. Ed. 3. p. 143, 144- 

Camb. surl'Exist. p. 4 — (3, {5 — 8. I Bpnt. ibid. Senn. 7. 

Bi-NT. ib. Serm. v. p. 12. and fine, Oct. Ed. p. 153 I Ba.\ r. on die Soul, i 2. No. 6. p. 46, 47. 4ta 

Bi-NT. ib. Serm. v. p. 12. and fine, Oct. Ed. p. 153 

— 177. 
Howe's V\'()rks, vol. i. p, 29—34. 

COLLIB. Inq. p.74— H4. 
Rel. of Nat. p. 79—8.". 
Abers. on Attrib. vol. i. p. 20 — 25. 
b Baxi. Mutlio, vol. ii. Conf. vii. p. 4—18. 

vol. i. 

c Maiho, vol.ii.5 118, 119. p. 1.43, Scc. i 110. 
p. '.)1, &;c. 
Coi.r.iB. ib. p. 144- 
d RiiHAULTbyCi ARKE, part I.e. xit.Hl-Note. 
COLLIB. Inq. p. 14i' 

by prejudice and passion, and without which even revelation itself would preach to 
him in vniii. 

The " visible things of God" indeed, and still more gloriously the revealed 
system of his grace, serve as mecs to remove a false, and to excite a true notion of 
the Supreme; they testify, and give a verbal representation of the true God ; they 
expose the folly of idols and idolaters ; but all this light shines in darkness, and these 
representations are made without eiiect, if there be no consciousness of positive 
uififlity.— — W, 

Lect. XXXII. Other Arguments in Proof of a Deitif. 367 

males and females in the several species of animals, and especial- 
ly in mankinds 

§ 15. 5. In preserving the balance of the several species of 
animals, so that none should over-run the earth and none be 

§ 16. 6. In keeping the species of animals and vegetable^ 
the same through succeeding ages, and preventing their being 
corrupted by undue mixtures'". 

§ 17. 7. In keeping the faces, voices and hand-writing so 
wonderfully distinct as they appear to be"*. 

§ 18. 8. The regularity and steadiness with which the world 
is governed by the same laws in the most distant ages, is a fur- 
ther noble argument of the divine interposition ; and is perhaps 
in nothing more conspicuous than in this, that the instincts of 
animals are still the same ^. 

§ 19. 9. If in any instance these laws have been interrupted, 
and effects have been produced beyond the common course of 
nature ; as these instances do not appear to have been so fre- 
quent as to overthrov/ the argument § 18. so they afford a fur- 
ther argument of a being superior to this system of things, and 
prove that he attends to the affairs of his creatures '^. 

§ 20. 10. It appears that the world is under the goverment 
of some being of great power and exquisite contrivance, art and 
conduct; who is himself either necessarily existent, or derived 
from some other who is so. 

Other Arguments in Proof of a Deiti/. 

\ 1 . Prop. JL O give a view of those other arguments in proof 
of a deity, which seem not of equal force Avith the former, and 
yet are urged by persons of considerable note. 

§ 2. Sol. 1. Cartesius argues that there must be a God, 
because necessary existence is contained in the idea of a God, 

a N'iF.rwnNT. ib. vol. i. p. 351—363. 

Coi.i.iB. ib. 147. 

Df.rh. Phys. Theol. p. 176, 177. Note. 
b coLi.iB. ii). p. i2;i. Ed. 3. p. 147. 

DrnTi. Phy>-. Tlicol. p. 1(58—17;). 

Nai. Disp. vol. i. jiart 1. p. .'|4 — 46. 

1: C'. LLjB. lb. p. \U2, i:^. W.J. p. MS, 149. 

Z Z 2 

d VVeems's Works, vol.iv. p. 12, 13. 

Dcnil.ib. p. 308—310. 

Ray's W isd. p. 245—247. 
e .SilAi'T. vol. 11. j). 337. 

SCO it's Clirisiian Life, vol. ii. p. 228, 229 
f Limb. Theol. 1. i.e. ii.? 17, 19,25. 

CiitLi.iLb lie t)it),p.'< his Wurks, tql.iv. 


as three angles are in the idea of a triangle ; so that though 
essence and existence are in other things distinct, yet when con- 
sidered with regard to the deity they are the same. 

To this it is answered, that there is a difference between the 
notional truth of propositions and the real truth of ideas. In 
plainer terms, the fallacy lies in the ambiguity of those words, 
God is a necessary existent being : If tlie meaning of them be, 
q. d. " By the word God, I understand a being that is supposed 
to be self-existent," they will be allowed ; but then they prove 
not i)is real existence: but if they signify, " It is most certain 
there is such a being," the sense is changed, and the proposi- 
tion may still be disputed**. 

a Cartes. Princ. 1. i, i 14—16. I Coi.t.ia. Inq. p. 130— 132. Ed. C. p. 156—159. 

Camb. Exist, p. 197—199. King's Orig.of Evil, p. 49, 50. No. 11. 

Voyage to the World of Cart. p. 159—164. |' 

* To this it may be replied, that our author's objection applies only to contingent 
existence, and does not affect the argument of Cartesius. The latter affirms, that 
essence and existence are the same with regard to P'i/y, and our author shews they 
are different as to other things. What Cartesius, Fenelon, Watts and many 
others maintain, is not merely, " God is a necessary existent Being," but " it is 
most certain there is such a Being," from the very idea of his essence. 

" Let men accustomed to meditate abstruse truths, and trace things to their 
first principles, endeavour to know God bj' his idea, I will not deny, that this is a 
sure way of anivin.c: at the source of ail truth. But the shorter and directer it is, the 
more inaccessible and rough it must be to the generality of men, who depend only on 
their senses. It is so simple a demonstration, that by its very simplicity » it escapes 
minds incapable of operations purely intellectual. The more perfect this method 
of investigating the Supreme Being is, the fewer there are capable to make use of it," 
Fenel. Demonst, § 1. 

" There is but one being which includes existence in the very essence of it, 
and that is (rod; who therefore actually exists by natural and eternal necessity : 
but the actual existence of every creaturea« very distinct from its essence, for it may 
be, or not be, as Godpleascs," Watts, Log. PartL Chap. ii. § 1. See also Part II. 
Chap. V. § 2. 


Hi/pothriical pnssiJnliiy, which may be called essence, implies some existence, 
wljich can be. no other but God, the supreme will, and first cause. 

1. Hypothetical possibility is the mere supposition of &fact. And we may stip- 
vosea. thousand things that never have, and never will exist. But 

2. in every supposition ot a contingent fact a supreme kHI i.*; implied, with 
which the supposed fact is cither compatible or incompatible. Or a cause is implied, 
which is either adequate or inadequate. But 

3. Tiiis will or cause can be no other than a being who exists of absolute 
necessity. Q. E. D. 

In other words, every hypothesis implies something nhsohite ; eyery change im- 
plies something vnchanaenble ; as every effect implies a cause, and every number an 
unit. A contjjigent event may be, or not be, as it is consistent or inconsistent with 
a causin" will; but were there no causing will, there could be no idea of contingencc. 
Hypothetical possibility, of whatever kind, would be the greatest absurdity imagin- 
able, without the idea of a first cause, i, e. God. I cannot even suppose, not to say. 

Lect. XXXII. Other Arguments in Proof of a Deity. 369 

§ 3. 2. Cartes I us further argues, " The greater the ob- 
jective perfection of any idea is, the more perfect must its cause 
be: but we have the idea of a being infinitely perfect, therefore 
there must be some infinitely perfect being to cause and pro- 
duce it." 

But this seems still to take for granted the thing to be 
proved, i. e. the objective reality of the idea, or the reality of 
the object supposed to be represented by it. And it may be 
pleaded, that, without any such archetype at all, an idea of an 
infinitely perfect being might be produced by the operation 
of our minds upon ideas arising from inferior objects, seeing 
we do not comprehend infinity, but only deny the bounds of 
an object which we suppose infinite^*. 

a Cartes, ib. ? 17, 18,22. 1 Coi.LlB.Inq. p. 132, 13,5. Ed. 3. p. 159, 160. 

Cams. ib. p. 189— 191. I Clarke at B >yll's Lect. p. 20— 22. 

Voyage to the World of CART. p. 166—169. | Locke's Ess. 1. iv, c. x. i 7. 

be conscious of my own existence, witliout admitting at the .same time, as a self- 
evident fact, something uncontingeut, something absolute, or absolutely necessary^ 
i. e. God. 

Hence it appears, that though " there is a difference between the notional truth 
of propositions and the real truth of ideas" respecting coyitingfnt objects, it is not so 
respecting aijirst cai/ir; for, without tliis, the very supposition of a difference between 
real and notional would be absurd. Essence and existence here have no conceivably 
medium ; in every contingent object they have. Here the very hypothesis implies tha 
fact; or, witliout the /«f^ the hypothesis could not be made. Here the Atheist is 
caught in his own net ; his very act of supposing there is no God is an appeal to some 
'•^ause of that supposition, i. e. a.Jirst cause, and demonstrates an absolute essence, or 
necessarj' existence. W. 

* To this answer it may be replied, that " the objective reality of the idea" is 
proved by the very supposition, in the present case ^ for were there nothing real, 
nothing could be supposed; were there nothing absolute, tliere could be no idea of 
something contingent. Even Atheistic ideas and suppositious prove " the ohjective 
reality" of a cause, a. first cause; and to suppose " a being infinitely perfect," proves 
the same, wich this addition, tliat the grandeur of the supposition implies a 
which is adequate to that effect. 


From all suppositions which imply nihility, deformity, and evil of every kind, 
the inference extends only to some cause acknowledged, or an appeal to a. first cause 
as the basis of hypothetical possibility. But from suppositions which imply goodness, 
beauty, and excellence of every kin<l, the fair inference extends to the w«/'/ re of that 
cause. Tlie reason is, tiiat evil has no positive cause, and its existence can be known 
only in contrast with good. 

Cor. 1. Good has absolute or necessary existence, as well as contingent, but evil 
hypothetical or contingent only. 

Cor. 2, As evil of any kind exists only as a contrast of existing good, hence 
not only the existence of good, but also that of evil proves that the first cause is 

To the latter part of the objection, viz. " that witliout any such archetype at 
all, an idea of an infinitely perfect Bein;' might be produced by the operation of our 
Oiinds upon ideas arising from inferior objects," it may be leplied, that such an idea 


§ 4. 3. Epicurus, and many others, particularly Lord 
Shaftsbury, have argued, that the idea of God is universal as 
being innate, and therefore that his existence is certain. Epicu-, 
Rus therefore supposes it natural to admit it ; and those who be- 
lieve man to be God's work, argue, from bis having stampt his 
character of himself upon all his human creatures. But the 
foundation of this argument has been removed in Led. 7. § 6. 
and the references ^ *, 

§ 5. 4. TiLLOTsoN argues thus, " The idea of a God is 
possible, seeing it involves no contradiction to suppose a being 
of all possible perfections, therefore it is necessary : for if there 
be no God now, there never can be a God, seeing eternity is a 
part of our idea of him ; so that on this supposition the exist- 
ence of a God is impossible, contrary to the hypothesis," But 
this argument, which seems nearly equal to the first in a plainer 
dress, may be sufficiently answered by the known distinction 
between an hypothetical and an actual possibility : v. g. It may 
be said to be hypothetic ally possible that the first man should 
have been created Avith wings, but since he was in fact created 
without wings, it is not actually possible : and this seems to 
be an instance parallel to the other ^ f . 

§ 6. Def. Those arguments which are brought from the ex- 
istence of some of the attributes of God to prove the existence 
of a God, are called proofs a priori : those taken from the 
phasnomena observable in the works of nature, are called proofs 


a COLLIB. lnq.p.l2S— 130. Ed.3.154r-156. | b TiLLOTS. Works, vol. i. p. 19. 

Shaftsb. Lett, to a Clerg. | COLUB. Inq. p. 133, 134. Ed. 3. 161, 162. 

Knight on die BcingandAttr. of God,p. 10—15. | 

as is here supposed, is not that of a first cause, i. e, God, but of magnified or multi- 
plied contingent existence, which is essentially diff'erent from the objective perfection 


* See also Led. vi. and the Notes there, 

•f- In one view, however, the argument of Tillotsom has great force. It will 
be allowed by all, that if there be a God, he must be a Being of infinite perfections j 
for the dispute relates to no other supposed objects, If such a Being be hypotheiicaUij 
possible, he must be actually so, for there is no medium between the hypothesis and 
the act; an eternal being who is not actual is in every respect impossible. Conse- 
quently, no one can be a consistent atheist until he has demonstrated the absolute 
ijupnsiilnhly o{ theism. This is the {a\r onus probaridi, which probably no one Mill 
eier dcliberaCely cope with — till he becomes a maniac. 

To the answer founded on the " distinction between a hypothetical and an actual 
possibility" it may be replied, that the distinction itself is applicable only to a con- 
Ini'/enl existence. True, indeed, " it may be said to he hupothetically possible that 

the first man should have been created with u ings" if you admit afirsl cause and 

supreme zvill, not otherwise. On the contrary, if there uere no first cause, it is not 
possible there should be a creature In jiuy form. W. 

Lect. xxxiii. Of the chief Sects of Atheists. 37 1 

§ 7. Schol. 1. The question, whether there be any proof of 
the being of a God a priori, depends upon the reality of space 
and duration, and their being the properties of some substance^ 
which will be examined hereafter. 

§ 8. 2. The proof of the attributes of a God a priori, is the 
arguing them from self- existence, shewing them to have a neces- 
sary connection with it : and in this sense some have denied there 
can be any proof a priori ; because nothing can be prior to a 
self-existent being, and because all our proofs of the attributes 
of such a being are ultimately drawn from the consideration of 
some being derived from him. But this objection is evidently 
founded on a mistake of the sense in which these words are used 
by the most accurate writers, 

§ 9. 3. On the whole, it may be proper to distinguish the 
various ways of proving the being and attributes of God thus, 

§ 10. 1. Both are proved a priori, when from the real ex- 
istence of space and duration we infer the existence of a self- 
existent being whose properties they are, and from necessity of 
existence prove his wisdom, power, goodness, &c*. 

§11.2. Both are proved a posteriori, when we argue from 
a survey of the system of nature, that there must be a wise, pow- 
erful and benevolent author. 

§ 12. 3. The proof h mixed, when from the observed ex- 
istence of any one derived being, whether material or immate- 
rial, more or less perfect, we argue the existence of a self-ex- 
istent being, and thus infer his attributes from a necessary con- 
nection with self-existence, as in the first case^ f . 


Of the chief Sects of Atheists. 

§ I. Prop. JL O take a survey of the chief sects of Atheists 
amongst the ancient Grecian philosophers. 

« CLARKE at Boyle's Lect. p. 494r-498. and I WATERi.ANn's Diss, on the Arg. a priori, apud 
p. 501, 602. I Law's Enq. ad Fin. praes. 51—5-1, 5(5— tiO. 

* Amidst the various attempts to prove the being of a God a priori, one of the 
most curious, and whicli seems to approach the neaicbt to a demonstration, is a 
short tract, written by the Rev. Moses Lowman of Clapham. The piece is now 
become very scarce, and indeed is almost forgotten. We mention it, that, in 
case it should be met with in any catalogue or sale of books, its value may be 
known. K. 

f The subject of the above Scholia is treated in a masterly manner by the 
acute PisTORius in his notes on Hartley, p, 580— 584, Quarto Ed, W. 


§ 2. Sol. 1. They all agreed in asserting, that there was no- 
thing but matter in the universe : but differ as to the question, 
whether it was animate or inanimate. 

§ 3. 2. Those who held matter to be animated^ were in ge- 
neral called vXo^oiKOi ; who, (as they darkly expressed it) main- 
tained that matter had some natural perception, but no animal 
sensation, or reflection in itself considered ; but that this imper- 
fect life occasioned that organization, from whence sensation 
and reflection afterwards arose. 

§ 4. 3. Of these, some held only one life, which they called 
a plastic nature ; and these were called the Stoical atheists, be- 
cause the Stoics held such a nature, though they supposed it the 
instrument of the deit}'^ : others thought that every particle of 
matter was endued with life, and these were called the Stra- 
ToNici, from Strato Lampsacenus : and Hobbes seems to 
have been of this opinion*. 

§ 5. 4. Those atheists Avho held matter tohe inanimate w&ca 
called alofjuKoi. Of these, some attempted to solve the phseno- 
mena of nature, by having recourse to the unmeaning language 
of qualities and forms, as the AnaximandrianSy who thought 
they were produced by infinite active force, upon immense mat- 
ter, acting without design : others by the figure and motion 
which they supposed to be essential to those atoms : these were 
the Democritici ; whose philosophy differed but very little 
from the Epicureans, who evidently borrowed many of their 
notions from Democritus. 

§ G. 5. Diagoras and Theodorus among the ancients, a» 
VANiNusamongthe moderns, are reckoned martyrsfor atheism''. 

§ 7. Sc/wl. 1. Sir William Temple is said to have been 
an atheist of a kind different from any of these, and to have 
thought the present system of things necessary and eternal; con- 
sequently his notion has been confuted by all the arguments 
brought to prove the world in its present form not to have been 
eternal, and that matter is not self-existent, nor motion essen- 
tial to it, or thought producible from it alone''. 

§ 8. 2. The Chinese have been represented by some as a 
nation of atheists ; and Burnet represents it as the opinion of 
Sir William Temple, that Confucius and his followers are to 

a Ci.ARKK at EiiYLr's Lert. p 57. marg. 
b Collier or Bavli; iiiNom. 

BUDDiEI Hist. Phil. c. iv. {43— 46, and 48. 

CUDWORTH's Svstem.l. i. t- iii. pris. { 34—36. 
103, 134—136. 


Cyrus's Trav. vol. ii. p. 27, 28. 31, 32. 
Fenei. Phil. Lives, p. 110, and 253, 2.')4. 
H.ALEs' Orig.of .Man, S4, c. iv. p. 340— 3^2 
Univ. Hist. vol. i. p. 17— 25, lol. 
c Bi'RNST's Hist. vol. ii. p. 670. Oet. 

Lect. XXXIII. Other Arguments in Proof of a Deity. 373 

be reckoned amongst those who were atheists themselves and 
left religion to the people. But Couplet (in his Declaraiio 
Proemialis, p. xxxviii.) has largely endeavoured to prove, that 
though their modern writers, i. e. those from about the tenth 
century of Christianity, have entertained and propagated athe- 
istical notions among the philosophers of that nation, Confucius 
and their earlier teachers were notwithstanding votaries to pure 
religion. But itis very observable, that Confucius (if the writings, 
which Couplet and his brethren, the Jesuit missionaries, have 
published as his, do really contain a j ust representation of what he 
taught,) says little of those branches of duty which immediately 
relate to God ; which leaves too much room for suspicion : though 
he does indeed speak of spirits surrounding men when they sa- 
crifice, in such a manner, as to agree very well with the heathen 
notion of good daemons, which perhaps differs not much from the 
christian doctrine of angels. (Conf. Morals^ I. ii. p. 50 — 52.) 
Yet I have not been able to find any part of his work in which 
he speaks expressly of God : for that very remarkable passage, 
(1. ii. p. 88 — yo.) in which he says so many sublime things of 
him who is supremely holy, must (when the whole of it is taken 
together) be understood of his wise man, and in that view is so 
impious and profane, as to leave a great deal of room to ima- 
gine, that Sir William Temple was not mistaken in the judg- 
ment he formed concerning him ; nor will what he says of the 
great spirit of heaven and earth be sufficient wholly to remove 
the suspicion ; as it is most probable, that it coincides with the 
notion of a plastic power, which some of the Grecian atheists 

§ 9. 3. Besides the objections against design in the universe, 
Lect. 30. § 10. other objections against a deity have been urged ; 
the chief of which amount to this, that there is something in his 
nature, operations and conduct which we cannot fully compre- 
hend : but if this argument be allowed as conclusive, we might 
be brought even to doubt of our own existence. See Led. 22. 
§14. ' 

Many other arguments or excuses brought for atheism do 
not deserve a particular place here, as will appear by consult- 
ing the passages here referred to*. 

§ 10. 4. It seems reasonable to conclude, that the fear of 
punishment from a divine being, and a desire of seeming wiser 
than others, have been the chief causes of atheism ; and per- 
haps the absurd nptions which some have entertained of the 

a CUDWORTH'S Syst. 1. i. c. ii- § 5—22, | Gastrel of Nat. Rel. p. 1S7— 212. 

VOL. IV. 3 A 



Part iij 

deity, and the unworthy manner in which those who profess to 
believe in him have acted, may be reckoned among the most fa- 
tal occasions of it^. 

§11.5. It may not be improper here to hint at the strange 
conduct of TuLLY in his celebrated book De Natiira Deonwiy 
who only slightly touches on the opinion of Anaxagoras, that all 
things were produced by one infinite mind, and gives no patron 
to that opinion, nor so much as spends one page or section in 
discussing it ; though he assigns proper advocates to defend at 
large thi Stoical and Epicurean principles, as well as the Acade- 
mical; and after all, leaves his reader under the impression of 
the Epicurean objections against Providence ; only coldly 
telling us, that they were not on the whole in his opinion so 
probable as the contrary doctrine. It is observable that the 
most religions passage in all Tully's works is only a fragment 
preserved by Lactantius^. 

§ 12. 6. Having thus established the proof of the existence 
of God, we now proceed in the following propositions to consi- 
der the chief of his perfections. 


Of the divine Eternity and Omnipotence. 
§ 1. Prop, VjtOD is eternal, i. e. he has existed and will 



§ 2. Dem. Whatever is self-existent is eternal. {Led. 23. 
§4.) God is self-existent. [Lect. 29. § 1.) Therefore God is 
eternal ^ 2. E. D. 

§ 3. Cor. God is immutable''. Vid. Lect. 23. ^ 6. 

§ 4, Schol. It must be acknowledged there is something to 
us incomprehensible in the divine eternity, in whatever view we 

attempt to conceive of it. A successive eternity is what the 

mind can form no consistent idea of: for it seems, that, if there 
have been a fifth, a tenth, or hundredth, there must have been 
some first ; and there can be nothing absolutely infinite, to 
which a continual addition is making. On the other hand, it is 

« GasTR. ib. p. 230—248. 

Scott's Cliristian Life, voU ii. p. 84, 85. 
b MiDDLinos's LifeofCic. vol. lii. p. 350,351. 

Benti.ey against CoUias on Free-Tliinking, 
p 77-68. 

c WiLKlNS's Nat. Rel. p. 120^-123. 

Abern. vol. i. p. 182—191. 
d WlLKlNtiib. p. 115—117. 

COLLIB. Inq. p. 56, 57. Ed.3. 66, 77. 

ABERN. ib. p. 19S— 200. 

iiAanis'sHccnies, p. 359| &c. a. ai 

Lect. XXXIV. OJ the divine Eternity and Omnipotence. 375 

impossible for us to conceive of an eternity so instantaneous^ as 
to exclude all past and future, and to be but one point of dura- 
tion: this would make that space of time, to which millions of 
years are as nothing, but a small part of an hour or a minute, 
and is in effect declaring that God is now creating the world, 
and also now destroying it, supposing it ever to be destroyed. 
Indeed if all that were meant by an instantaneous eternity when 
applied to God were this, that all things whether past pr future 
are as open to his view, as those things which exist in the pre- 
sent moment, this would be intelligible, but would not remove 
the difficulty of a successive eternity : and to reply (as some have 
done) that this eternity is not to be considered as duration at 
all, but as necessary' existence, to which neither succession nor 
instantaneousness have any relation at all, more than colour to 
sound, leaves the question I think under the same darkness as 

Nevertheless it is to be remembered, that this difficulty does 
not arise from the doctrine of the deity alone, but is common to 
every scheme that supposes any thing eternal, as something 
must certainly be ; Lect- 23. § 16, &c. and it would follow from 
supposing one atom to be so, besides all the other absurdities 
prising from the denial of an intelligent self-existent cause ^ 

§ 5. Prop. God is omnipotent ; i. e. no effect can be as- 
signed so great, but he is able to produce it. 

§ 6. Dem. 1. The very act of creating any being out of 
nothing, implies a power so great, that we can imagine nothing 
impossible to a being who can perforoi it by his own power. 
Lect. 29. § 1. 

§ 7. 2. The amazing greatness and variety of the works of 
nature serve still more sensibly to illustrate the power of the 
creator. Lect. 31, § 1, &c. 

§ 8. 3. We see nothing which betrays any marks of impo- 
tency or weakness in the deity. 

§ y. 4. We have no reason to believe that any internal de- 
fect limits the divine power. 

§ 10. 5. If there were any other being capable of controul- 

a Cams, sur IT.xist v- 469—499. 
Ci ARKE's Serm. vul.i. p. 81,82. Oct. 
Cor, LIB. III. p. '204r-'.'i 1. Ed. 3 p. 245—253. 
Burs, on Art. p. i;), 20. 
Kamsay's Cyrus, B. ii. p.33, 3i. 
Eams. Principles, vii. 
KlNi^'s Ori(. of Evil, p. 60—66. 

CUDW. Intel. Syst. p. 644> ^c. 

BOETH. de Cpnsol. PJiilos; v. (3. 

kel. of Nat. p. 69, 70. 

WATis's Hymns, 1. ii. No. 17 and CT. 

V\'ATrs's Ontology, c. iv. 

Ablrn. vol. i. p. 201 — 207. 

SOAMB JtHyHS's Disquis, No-V 

3 A 2 


ing him in the execution of his volitions, this being must be su- 
perior to him, and might (for any thing that appears) have pre- 
vented or destroyed his being as well as his operations, which 
would be inconsistent with the idea of God, Led. 29. § 1. as a 
self-existent being. 

§11.6. There is no exterjial power to limit the operations 
of the divine being. Therefore, 

§ 12. 7. His power is unlimited, and consequently can pro- 
duce any effect be it ever so great ^. 2. E. D. 

§ 13. Cor. If God be omnipotent, then nothing can be ne- 
cessary to the production of any being in any supposed circum- 
stance of time or place, but that God should will its existence 
in this circumstance ''. 


Concerning divine Power. . 

^ 1. ScJiol. 1. x\NOTHER argument to prove that God is in- 
finite in power is drawn from Lect. 23. § 12. for it is certain he 
has some degree of power. A third from Lect. 29. § 12. since 
it is evident that to conceive of God as omnipotent, is much more 
honourable than to conceive of him as a being of limited power. 
§ 2. 2. If it be objected to the fifth step of the preceding 
demonstration, that a power merely equal to that of God's might 
be sufficient to controul him in the execution of his volitions, 
and that we have not yet proved there is no being equal to him; 
it may be replied, that in some cases to controul the acts of 
another must argue some superiority ; v. g. if A will that a 
creature should exist, and B that it should not exist, if it does 
not exist, then B. in that instance triumphs over A, and appears 
superior to him. But if this answer should not be judged satis- 
factory, then it must be remembered, that we have shown that 
God's power is not limited by any internal defect, and tliat no 
external limiting power has yet been proved ; and if it should 
hereafter be proved, by any argument not depending upon his 
omnipotence, that there is but one suchself-existentbeingas we 
call God, then this proposition will be demonstrated in all its 

a WiLKiNs of Nat. Rel. p. 14'', HS. I b Jen. Pneum. Prop. 30. 

Clarke's Serm. vol. i. p. ! 19, 120,206—216. Ralphs. deSpat. reali, p. 67. 

Howe's Works, vol. i.p. 106, 107, 67—69. I Kams. Princip. xv. 

Living Temple, vol. i. 8vo. p. 207—215. I Howe's Works, vol. i. p. 23. Note. 

ABER N. vol. i, No. 8. I Liv. Temp. p. 50, 5 1. 

Lect. XXXVI. OJ God's continued Agency and Energy. 371 

§ 3. 3. It must be owned we have no conceptions of a creat- 
ing power otherwise than by its effects: nevertheless that will 
not prove that there is no such thing ; a blind man might as 
well argue against the existence of light''. 

§ 4. 4. It is no limitation of the divine power, to assert that 
God is not able to do what implies a contradiction, for that is 
in effect to do nothing at all, and consequently, a pretended 
power of doing it, is no power at all ''. 

Of God's continued Agency and Energy. 

^ 1; Prop. X^LL the creatures of God, whether they be cor- 
poreal or incorporeal, sensible or spiritual, owe their efficacy for 
producing any effect to the agency of a divine power in and 
upon them, at the very time when such effect is produced. 

§ 2. Dem. I. I. Whatever is derived from another does not 
necessarily exist in the first moment of its being. Lect. 23. §, 2. 

§ 3. 2. Whatever does not necessarily exist in the first mo- 
ment of its existence, cannot necessarily exist in the second, or 
in any following moment; but must owe its continued existence 
to the will of the being by whom it was at first produced: for 
by supposing its existence to continue when that will ceased, 
we should suppose it to be without the cause of its being. 

§ 4. 3. All the creatures of God do every moment depend 
upon God for the continuance of their existence "=. 

§ 5. 4. The power of action implies something more than 
continued existence. 

§ 6. 5. Whatever is created by God depends continually 
upon him for the continuance of its active powers. 

§ 7. 6. If from any constitution of nature whatsoever, there 
could necessardy arise any act of power independent on the con- 
current volition of God, it is difficult to say where that indepen- 
dent power would stop ; and for aught appears that being might 
be omnipotent. 

a COLLIB. Inq. p. 60— 6!^. Ed. 3. 70—75. | c Cor.i.iB, Inq. p. 6i, 65. Ed. 3. p. 75, 76. 

On the Soul, Ess. V. 8 2— 4. I HcwB'sWorks, vol. i. p.65. 

Rams. Priucip. xiv. | Burnet on .Art p. 30. 

b C'oi.l.lB. Inq. p. 180, 181. Ed. 3. p. 217, 218. i Wat rs's E-ss. I. ix. }2.p.201— 208,213. 

CROt'/i. Log. vol. i. p. 405, 4i)i. I lb. No. xi. p. 267, 268. 

Clarkk's Serm. vol. i. p. iJHi— 219. | Chi-.yne's Princ. part i. J 9. 

UowE's Work.s, vol. i. p. JO.y. 1 Uaxt. on the Soul, vol. i. p. 225—227. 

Living Tcinp. 8vo. vol. i. p.' J39— 310. 1 SlItRlOcK on Provid. 9\\\ ICd. p. 19, 20. 

T1LI.0T.V. Works, Serm 91'. i 



Part ii. 

§ 8. 7. The wisest and greatest philosophers have not been 
able to trace any connection between solidity and gravitation, 
or motion and thought : therefore a perpetual omnipotent agency 
seems to be the most probable way of accounting for those other- 
wise unaccountable phenomena ^. Valet propositio. 

^ 9. Dem. II. To those who allow the universality of divine 
providence on principles independent on this proposition, 
which many do, another argument has been proposed j wluch 
•will stand thus. 

§ 10. 1. God must will that any creature should, or should 
not exist, with any given power, in any given moment; for not 
to will that it should so exist, would on the present supposition 
be in effect willing that it should not. 

§ 1 1 . 2. If he will that it should not so exist, it will not : 
otherwise God would not be omniootent, contrary to Led. 34. 

§ 12. 3. Therefore its existence in such circumstances, i. e. 
its efticacy for producing any effect in (juestion, is owing to the 
divine voUlion, i. c. to the agency of God in and upon it*, 
Q. E. D. 


On divine Energy ; continued. 

^ I . Cor. J . W HAT we generally call second causes, are not 
causes in the strict propriety of speech ; and what we call the 
laws of nature^ are only certain rules and methods, by which 

a Baxter's Matho, vol. i. Conf. iv. 5 4V— 49. 
Baxt. on the Soul, vol. i. ? ii.pras.p. 94^—101. 

&: note p. 101— 108, 128— 1j9. 
Ci ARKE at BnYi.E'sLect. p. 300. 
ViRG. Aln. vi, ver.724, &c. 
Owen on Sp. p. 138—140. p. 77. p. 465, 466, 
Gamb. Exist, p, 1 1|. 
CLARKE'sxvii. Senn. No. 7. p. 171. 
Baxt. Works, vol. ii. p. 15,27, 183. 

Thoms. Sprinar, ver. 346—360. 

Si UTH's Serm. vol. iii. p. 461. 

Reynold's \\ orks, p. 7. 

Jenk. Reason, of Christianity, vol. ii. p. 484- 

Marc. Anton. 1. v. c. 40. 

Abern. vol. i. Serin, vii. p. 240-244- Lond. Ed. 

p. 225—229. 
Pairr's Four Dissertations, No; 1, 
Si'KBBiNG on Providence. 

*N. B. I lay but little stress upon this second demonstration, though it once 
appeared plausible: for perhaps the universality of divine piovidence cannot be de- 
monstrated on principles independent of this proposition ; so that at best it is but 
tirsrumpntum uU komineni: and the force of this reasoning may be so probably retorted 
with respect to tite irrational volitions of free creatures, that it seems on the whole 
best to wave it, and to allow, that even while providence is attentive to an event, 
there may be a medium between absolutely willing either that it should, or shoiild 
not exist, which is inconsistent with the first etep. Ix, 

Lect. xxxvfi. On divine Energy ; continued. '619 

God generally proceeds, in those of his actions which fall tinder 
our cognizance. Nevertheless, creatures may in an inferior 
sense be called causes, as certain events commonly follow cer- 
tain changes in their condition and will*. 

§ 2. 2. It evidently appears that the providence, i. e. the 
notice and care of God extends itself to all events, even the 
smallest as well as the greatest''. Fid. Lect. 31. § 9, &c. 

§ 3. 3. We hence learn, into what we are to resolve tiiG 
power which our minds have of moving our bodies, viz. into 
a divine volition in such and such instances to produce motions 
in our bodies, correspondent to the volitions of our minds. To 
this agree the ease and swiftness with Avhich those motions are 
performed on the act of our will, and the constancy of other in- 
voluntary, but always needful motions, which cannot be solved 
by any mechanical laws "". Lect. 2. § 27. 

§ 4. 4. The Avonderful instances of instinct in brutes may 
most probably be accounted for this way: God, by some un- 
known impression upon them, moving them to and assisting 
them in such actions, as on the whole are most convenient ; 
though the rationale depends on principles, which they cannot 
know''. Lect. 16. § 3. 

§ 5. 5. Hence we infer the absurdity of the doctrine of 
aplastic nature^ M'hich some have thus described. *' It is an 
incorporeal created substance, endued with a vegetative life, 
but not with sensation or thought ; penetrating the whole creat- 
ed universe, being coextended with it ; and under God moving 
matter, so as to produce the phaenomena, which cannot be 
solved by mechanical laws : active for ends unknown to itself, not 
being expressly conscious of its actions, and yet having an ob- 
scure idea of the action to be entered upon." 

As the idea itself is most obscure, and indeed inconsistent, 
so the foundation of it is evidently weak. It is intended by this, 
to avoid the inconveniency of subjecting God to the trouble of 
some changes in the created world, and the meanness of others : 
but it appears from this proposition, that even upon this hypo- 

a Boyle's Inq. into Nat. apurl 

RAY'S Wisd. of God, p. 53, 34. 

Seed's Serm. vol. ii. p. 132—134. 

CHKYNE's Princ. part. i.H- p-i— 6. 

Browse's Rel. Med. p 15. 

Nat. Uisp. vol. iv. p. 50 — 5<!. 

Ramsay's Princ. vol. i. 0.251—255. 

Baxt. on the Soul, vol. i. p. 179—181. 

Watps's Ontology, p. 329 and 365. 

Clarke at Boyle's Lect. part ii. p. 222. 6tli. Ed. 
tl Kel. of Nat.p. 95— 9S. 

Scott's Christian Life, vol. ii. p. 16'i— 166. 

I'RlCR's Dissert, p. 8 — 11. 

Baxt. on the Sou), p. IS2, 183. 

FiTzosB. Lett. No. 8. 
c Cr ar;ce and Leibnitz, No. v. App. 

CLERIC! Pneum. J I.e. vi. } 12^16. 

Camb. Exist, i 46, 17. 

Matho, vol. i. Conf. 6. J 79. 

Sep.J-'s Serm. vol. ii. p. 150. 
d Spcct. vol. ii. No. 120. sub fin. No. 121, stib init 

Camb. Exist. } 23. p. 4(i — IS. 

Nat. Disp. vol. i. p. 285, 286. Ed. 2. p. 197, 198. 

Rams. Princ. p. 381—384. 

Matho, vol. i. Conf. vi. §82, 83. 

Origin adv. Cels.l. iv. p.2I7. 

iSliED's Seim. \ol. ii. p. 148, &c. 


thesis lie would still be the author of them ; besides that to 
omnipotence nothing is troublesome, nor those things mean, 
when considered as a part of a system, which alone might ap- 
pear to be so ^. 


On divine Energy ; continued. 

§ 1. Schol. 1. JLT is objected, that if God be thus the author of 
all our ideas and of all our motions, then also of all our volitions, 
which would be inconsistent with thatliberty of choice asserted, 
Lect, 19. 

Ans. On the principles laid down above, the will is not 
properly an effect of any necessary efficient cause ; but rather 
a tendency towards the production of an effect, so far as we ap- 
prehend it to be in our power ; {Prop. 1. gr. 4.) and for any 
thing which appears in the objection, or is asserted in the propo- 
sition, when all the requisites to volition are supposed, it lies in 
our own breasts to determine one way or another : and though 
God, upon such a determination of ours, adds efficacy to the 
volition, even Avhen it is most foolish and pernicious, that does 
not properly make him the author of the action. [Vid, Lect. 2. 
§ 7.) And they who suppose a stock of power lodged in the 
hand of the creature by virtue of its original constitution, (God 
at the same time knowing in every particular how it will be 
used,) will labour under the same difficulty in this respect with 
us; nay, their hypothesis at last will be found equivalent to 
ours : and if we allow that universal presence and inspection of 
God, which all who are not atheists admit, it will be nearly as 
difficult to account for iiis not interposing to prevent such acti- 
ons, as for his adding efficacy to them in a natural way ''. 

§ 3. 2. It is further objected, that if God produce all our 
ideas by his own impression on the mind, then a material world 
was not necessary, and consequently it would be unbecoming 
the nature and character of God to produce it. Vid. Lect. 34. 
§ 13. 

a CUDW. InLSyst. p. 149— 17'3. pri3. 178— IS 1. 

MORE'sImm. of theSoul, l.iii.C. I'i. 

Ray's Wjsd. of God, p. 51, 5'2. 

Cheyne's Princ. c. 1. J. 3. p. 3,4. 

Price's Dissert, p. 't7 — 50. note, 
b Cams. Exist, i 67. 

Howe of Prescience, I 6. 7. Op. voj. ii. p. 

W ATTs's Uiss. on Trin. No. 5. p. 142, 143. 
MANDEVll.'sFreeThouglits, p. 103, 109. 
BAXT.onthe Sou!, p. 2".t — L'lO. 
COtLlli. Inq. p. iyj— U'S. Ed. 3. p. 235— 238. 


Lect. XXXIX. On divine Energy ; continued. 381 

§ 4. Ans. 1. The denial of any material world at all, ac- 
cording to Berkley's and Collier's scheme, Avould remove 
the foundation of this objection : nevertheless, for reasons which 
will afterwards be mentioned, we do not chuse to have recourse 
to that solution j but add, 

§ 5. 2. Allowing the creation of a material world to be tons 
utterly unaccountable on this supposition, we cannot therefore 
certainly say that it Avas in vain : and as for its not being abso- 
lutely necessary, it will not easily be granted, that any thing 
that God does, is so. 

§ 6. 3. If we grant that God has a power of producing any 
idea in our minds without an external archetype, (of which 
dreams seem to be an evident proof, and which is so certainly 
included in omnipotence, that few deny it) then it will be as 
hard to account for the creation of the material world, as if we 
admit the proposition to be true. 

§ 7. Schol. 3. It is further objected, that it is a dishonour to 
the divine being, to suppose him immediately concerned in the 
most mean and trifling events ; and that it would be exceed- 
ing ridiculous, were our discourse commonly to be formed upon 
the principles of this proposition. 

§ 8. Ans. We before Lect. 37. § 5. observed the usefulness 
and beauty of many things on the whole, which, when consi- 
dered in themselves, may appear mean and vile : (of which the 
discharge of the foeces from animal bodies is a remarkable in- 
stance) and we may further add, that there is no occasion at 
all for introducing a change in our common forms of speech, 
seeing there is a sense, in which those things may be said to be 
the actions of the creatures, which are done by the interme- 
diation of their volition, though not by an active force of 
their own, at that time independent on the concurrent voli 
tion of God: [Lect. 37. § 1.) so that upon the whole, they 
may be sufficiently distinguished from those, which are, with 
full propriety and in the highest sense, called the actions of 

a CROUZ. Lo£. TOl. i. p. 43(5-440, 44?. I Watts'* Ess. c. iii. HO— 15- p. 87— 90. 

VOL. IV. 3 B 


On divine Energy and Omniscience. 

§ l.Schol. 4. JLt is further objected, that it would be a disho- 
nour to the divine being, that, whereas a common Avorkman 
can make a machine, which shall go on for some time with- 
out his interposition, God should not be able to produce what 
can operate without his perpetual agency. 

§ 2. Ans. 1 . All human arts are but the means of altering some 
circumstances in the form and disposition of matter, which be- 
fore existed under certain laws, entirely independent on the will 
of the artist ; but it is the pecuhar glory of God, to have a 
whole world of creatures in a perpetual dependence on himself. 

§ 3. 2. That when we assert a perpetual divine agency, 
we readily acknowledge that matters are so contrived, as not 
to need a divine interposition in a different manner, from that 
in which it had been constantly exerted. And it is most 
evident, that an unremitting energy, displayed in such circum- 
Btances, greatly exalts our idea of God, instead of depressing 
it ; and therefore by the way is so much the more likely to 
be true. Vid. Led. 29. § 12. 

§ 4. 3. We may add, that this argument tends to prove, 
contrary to the opinion of most that have advanced it, that 
God might make a creature, which should subsist without his> 
supporting presence and agenc3^^ 

§ 5. Prop. God is a being of perfect knowledge : i. e. 
he knows in the most certain and perfect manner whatever 
can be the object of knowledge, i, e. whatever does not im- 
ply a contradiction. 

§ 6. Dem. I. 1 . God is a spirit, i, e. a thinking being. 
Led. 29. § I, 3, &c. 

§ 7. 2. God must have some degree of knowledge. 

§ 8. 3. There is no reason for setting bounds to his know- 
ledge, i. e. he knows all things in the most perfect manner. 
2.E.D. See ZfC^ 23. § 12. 

§ 9. Devi. II. 1. God has made all the creatures, and con- 

Q BURv. on Art p. 33. I 17. f 4. p. 27—31. 5 (5—9. p. 43—47. 1 6—9; 

VV'ATrs's Ess. No. ix. 5 2. p. 201—008. _ I p. 3(j3— 365. 

COL1.1B. Iiiq. p. 195—198. Ed. 3. p. 235—238. I Pnici;'s Dissert p. 48—53. 
Clarke andl-EiB.NiTz, p. 3— 7. { 4. p 13 — \ Rams. Piiuc. prop. xix. 

Lect. XXXIX. On divine Energy and Omniscience. 385 

linuallyactuatesand supports them. Lect. 29. § 1, 3, &c. Lect, 
36. § i, &c. 

§ 10. 2. He must know all that relates to them. 

§ 1 1. 3. He must by consciousness know himself. Therefore, 

§ 1 2. 4. He must know all things. 2. JE' D. 

§ 1,3. Schol. To this it may be objected, that there may be 
some other self-existent creator, and that this being with his 
creatures may be unknown to God : and it is allowed, that the 
argument of this second demonstration cannot appear in its full 
evidence, till we have proved the unity of the Godhead ; never- 
theless the second step alone would be sufficient to prove, that 
he knew all things that belong to us ; which is that in which we 
are chiefly concerned. 

§ 14. Dem. III. 1. Knowledge is an attribute of so great im- 
portance, that without it, whatever conceptions we could form 
of the deity, would be very low and imperfect. 

§15.2. It is reasonable to conceive of God in the most ho- 
nourable manner. Lect.' 29. § 12. 

§ 16. 3. It is reasonable to conceive of God as a being of 
great knowledge ; and to remove from our idea of him, as much 
as possible, all degrees of error, ignorance and uncertainty. 

§ 11. 4. There is no apparent reason for limiting his know- 
ledge, so as to exclude from it any thing which can be the ob- 
ject of intelligence to us or any other being. Therefore, 

§ 18. 5. It is reasonable to conclude that he is a being of 
perfect knowledge \ 2. E, D. 

§ 1 9. SchoL That God is a being of boundless knowledge 
as well as power, was the opinion of the wisest heathens ; as ap- 
pears from the custom of swearing, as well as from many pas- 
sages quoted from their writers in the references above ^. 

§ 20. Cor. 1 . Hence it appears that God knows all the se- 
crets of the heart, and therefore is most able to judge of the real 
cliaructcrs of men. 

§ 21 . 2. It apj)ears that any hypocrisy, when we are dealing 
with him, or addressing to him, is very great folly, though it 
may be most artfully disguised \ 

a Clarke's Post Scrm. vol. i. p. 248 — 252. No. H. 
Wir.K. Nat. kcl.p. l'2i— US. 
■liLLOTs. v.>l. li. p.oW, ()0i),603, 603,60y— 611. 
Howt's U'orl>s, vol. i. p. Mi, lOJ. 

ABrasFTilv, vol. i. No. 9. p. '390—305. 
b X£Ni>rii. Meiiiorab. IV. 19. 
C HuRVEV'«Mtdit, vol. ii. p. 23—35, 

3 B 2 



Part it. 

Of the Divine Omnipresence — Contingency. 

§ 1. Def, xi\. Spirit is said to be present in any place, 
Avhen it is capable of perceiving, and immediately operating up- 
on the body Avhich fills that place, or on spirits united to such 
bodies, i. e. spirits perceiving and acting by them ^ 

§ 2. Prop. God is omnipresent, i. e. present in every 

§ 3. Dem. 1. God perceives the changes of bodies in what^ 
ever place they are, and of all spirits united to them. Lect. 39. § 5. 

§ 4. 2. He is capable of operating upon them. Lect. 34. § 5. 

§ 5. 3. It is much more honourable to God, to conceive of 
him as present in all places, than as excluded from any. § 1, 
and Lect. 23. § 12. Therefore, 

§ 6. 4. God is omnipresent''. Q. E. D. 

§ 7. Schol. 1. The first of these arguments only proves that 
God is where any of his creatures are ; and it is only on suppo- 
sition that there is but one God, that it will follow from hence, 
that he is every where. But it is to be remembered, that the 
argument, Zec^. 23. § 12. if allowed, will prove, that what can 
by a necessity of its own nature act upon a body in any place, 
may by a neeessit}' of its nature act upon bodies in every place ; 
"which will be so far a proof of God's omnipresence, independent 
on his unity : and if it be his property to fill space, he must for 
the same reason fill all space. 

§ 8. 2. It is a great question, whether God be so present as 
to fill space- This depends upon another question, whether it 
be the property of an immaterial spirit to fill space : with refer- 
ence to which I must confess, that when I conceive of spirit as 
diffused through any part of space, I immediately conceive of 
it as something corporeal ; and consequently cannot conceive 
how it can be asserted of the divine being, by those who grant 
his immateriality, as most of the patrons of this doctrine do. But 
this will be more largely considered below '^. 

§ 9. Def. An event not come to pass is said to be con- 
tingent, which either may, or may not be. What is already 

A Watts's Philos. Es.?. p. 165, 166. 
b Howe, ib. vol. i. p. lOS— 1 10. 

Tl 1 1,0 rs. vol. ii. p. 756, 7:>7. 

Cor.i.iB. Inq. p. 71, 7'2. Ed. 3. p. 84, 85. 

■Ab£RN. vol. i. Serm. vii. 

Specf. vol. viii. No. 565, 571. 
c Newt. Princij). p. 4S3. 
Saiir. Serm. vol. ii.p. 60 — 64. 
W AXrs's Ess. No. vi. § 5. p. 16.5—169. 
Rams. Phil. Princ. Prop. a. vol. i. p. 57—72. 

LecT. XL. 

Of the divine Omnipresence , BCc. 


done, is said to have been contingent^ if it might or might not 
have been. 

§ 10. Cor. 1. Contingency is opposed to necessity ^ not to 
certainty : for that is said to be certain, which will be, without 
considering whether it be necessary or not''. 

§11. 2. Tiiere are in fact various things, which are in their 
nature contingent ; for such are all the actions of free creatures, 
considered as free''. See Lect, 18. and Led. 19. and Notes. 

§ 12. Prop. Future contingencies are known to God. 

N. B. Though this be comprehended in Lect. 39. § 5. yet we 
shall here give a distinct demonstration of it, because it has 
been so much controverted, and so much of what follows 
depends upon it. 

§ 13. Dern. l. So much depends upon future contingencies, 
that if they be unknown to God, almost every thing relating to 
those of his creatures which are free agents must be unknown to 
liim too ; so that our ideas of the divine knowledge and per- 
fection will by this means be very much diminished. 

§ 14. 2. Wise aud sagacious men arc capable of making 
very probable conjectures of future events; and therefore it 
seems dishonourable to deny that God has a power of forming 
an unerring judgment concerning them. 

§ 15. 3. If God does not foreknow future contingencies, 
he is daily growing more and more knowing, in a prodigious 
and incomparable degree beyond any of his creatures ; w^hich 
•would be inconsistent with his immutability, and therefore con- 
trary to Lect. 4. § 9 '^. Valet propositio. 

§ 16. Cor. God always M'i lis the same thing; for whatever 
appears to him eligible in any circumstances which actually are, 
must- always have appeared eligible on the foresight of those 
circumstances, i. e. he must always have willed it; supposin<r, 
what we shall hereafter endeavour to prove, that his will is al- 
ways agreeable to reason, dnd never changed without it. 

a CiAUKE at Boyle's Lect. p. 100, 
b Watis's Ont.c. iii. p. 3:51— ;533. 

Hutch. Melapli. parti, c. iv. S2. p. 23—25. 
c JIowL's Works, vol. i. p. 102—104. 

J{el. of Nat.p.99— lO'i. 

TiLLOiS. vol. ii. p. 605,<30e. 

FOST. on Nat. Rcl. vol. i. p. 69—74, 
SEARCH oil Free Will, &c. f 33—31. 
Clarke's Post. Serin, vol. i. No, 11, p. 23$ 
— 2(J8. * 

ABERN. vol. i, Scrm. ix, p. 313— 323. 



Of Contingency , and Scientia Media. 

§ 1. Schol. 1 . JLf it should hereafter be proved on the one hand, 
that God has foretold the evil actions of his creatures, and on 
the other, that he could not have made them necessary; then it 
■will appear that this proposition is true in fact, whatever plausible 
objections may be raised against it. 

§ 2. 2. The principal objection to the proposition is, that 
certainly to foreknow contingencies is a contradiction j since 
nothing can be the object of knowledge, but what exists in it- 
self or in its necessary cause: and consequentlj^ to deny their 
being known to God is no more limiting his knowledge, than it 
limits his power to own he is not able to do what is self-con- 

§ 3. To this we answer, that the certainty of an event 
does not \m^]y necessity ; {Lect. 40. § 10.) and consequently, 
that there may be a foundation for certain foresight, where the 
event itself is contingent ; or in other words, the thing will not 
be because God foresees it, but God foresees it because it will 
certainly be. It may be added, that not to be able to do a con- 
tradiction, is in effect no limitation of the power of God, because 
a power to effect a contradiction is indeed no powder at all : 
(Lect. 35. § 4.) but not to know what the wall of a free creature 
Aviil determine, is indeed a limitation of knowledge, or in other 
words, a difficulty, with which the divine understanding (if the 
proposition be denied) is puzzled and confounded. 

§ 4. It must be acknowledged, that the method, by which 
God foresees these contingencies, is unknown : for I think it not 
safe to say, as some do, that the mind is so constituted, that it 
does always in fact, though not necessarily, determine itself ac- 
cording to the preponderancy of the motive offered to it ; which 
if it Avere granted, would not be a certain foundation of pre- 
science; since if this scheme could be reconciled with the doc- 
trine of liberty as stated Lect. 19, and 20. yet it would subject 
the divine being to a possibility of error in every particular, and 
in all the schemes depending upon each. We are sure (by Lect. 
39. § 5.) that God knows all things that actually are, whereas 
our own knowledge is limited to a very narrow sphere ; and 
therefore, since we are sure the divine understanding does in 
that instance entirely exceed our comprehension, w'hy may we 
not as Avell allow that it may exceed it in the manner of fore- 

Lect. xLi. Of Cmitingency and Scientia Media. 387 

knowing future contingencies ; or where is it we may more rea- 
sonably suppose the human mind to be puzzled, than when it 
■would attempt to explain the method of divine knowledge \? 

§ 5. 3. To the second step it is answered, God may indeed 
form very probable conjectures, vastly beyond the reach of any 
human sagacity, though he cannot certainly foreknow the event, 

§ 6. To this the principal reply is, that to suppose God 
always in doubt, and ever liable to be mistaken, seems incon- 
sistent with the perfections of his nature, and is a less honour- 
able way of conceiving of him ; especially if we consider, that as 
an event lies more and more distant, the possibility of an error in 
each intermediate circumstance will so much affect the rest, that 
in a little time there may be upon comphcated schemes almost 
a total darkness. But should it ever appear, that he has actually 
and positively without any hesitation foretold future contingent 
events, and that he has even put the evidence of his true divinity 
upon such predictions, that would abundantly confirm the second 
argument: nor would the hypothesis of a constant though not 
necessary determination of the will according to motives, (§ 1 .) 
be sufficient to vindicate such, a conduct ; since still there was 
in every instance at least a possibility of mistake. 

§ 7. 4. To step the third it is objected, that such a change 
as is there supposed is not inconsistent with the immutability of 
the divine being ; seeing his nature and attributes are still the 
same, though his ideas are supposed to be different at different 
times. But it is answered, this is only a partial immutability: the arguments that prove the immutability of God in 
general will not admit of such a change in the divine views and 
purposes, as must be involved in the ignorance of future con- 
tingent events ''. 

a de Deo, p. 67, 68. ap. Op. vol. iv. 
CoLl-lB. Inq. p.9l. Ed. 3. p. lOfi— 109. 
Clarke at Boyle's Lect. p. KW — 104. 
Rel.of Nat. p. lO'J, 103. 
West's Scrm. iii. 
Hams. Hrincip. xxii. 
TiLLors. vol. ii. p.COC— 608. 
Howe's Works, vol. i. p. 104— IO6. vol. ii. p. 
503, 504, 

M0RR'.<! Tncliir. 1. iii. 1. ii. §2. 
Leitres Pers. vol. i. No. 5(i. 
Jackson on Liberty, ]>. .SO — 16. 
BoEl H. de Consul. Philos. 1. v. 
Law on King's Orig. of Evil, Note 10. Rem. c. 
H ARi LEY on Man, vol. ii. jir. 15. 
b C"l.Lli). Inq. p. r)fi,57. Ed. 3. 66,67. 
RlDOLEY's Div. vol. i.p. 62*. 

*The question, whether future contincrcneies are known to God, unavoidably 
enters into the yrand controversy concerning the liberty or necessity of the human 
will. Accordingly, it will be found to have been more or less discus.sed in the author.'} 
to whom we have refened under tiie sixteentii proposition, K, Lect. xx. ad Jin. 

Respecting God's foreknowledge of conlin^enl fvents it may be observed, 
that all <-ontingent objects or events are either goorf or ev.<7; for, strielly speaking, 
9II, however mixed and shaded, are reducible to these two. 

PiioposrrioN I. 

God foreknows all good. For, 


§ 8. 5. It seems strange, that many who grant the universal 
foreknowledge of what will actually be, should deny what they 
call scientia media, or hypothetical prescience, i. e. the know- 
ledge of what Avould follow upon some certain suppositions, 
•which are not fact ; v. g. how king George would have acted, 
if he had been emperor of Germany, or the emperor, if he had 
been king of Great-Britain ; or how any child Avho died in in- 
fancy would have behaved, if he had grown up to manhood. 
To object, that this would suppose the divine mind filled with 
a variety of vain speculations, is very inconclusive; for it is 
difficult to say, how God could in any instance select any scheme 
as best, if he had not a view of others with Avhich it might be 

a Le Blakc's Tlies. p. 454—458. I Juvenal's Sat. x. ver. 350—354- 

Leibn. TheoU.§3y— iT. | 

1. No good object or event can exist without an efficient producing cause. 

2. This efficient producing cause can be no other ultimately but God. 

3. God, as a being of infinite knowledge and perfection, must know perfectly 
what he will eft'ect to eternity. Therefore, 

4. God foreknows all good with perfect, that is, infinite exactness. 

Proposition II. 
God foreknows all eviJ. For, 

1. Were there no good there could be no evil ; for the very nature and degree 
of evil is relative, and consists in want of and contrariety to existing good. 

2. As God foreknows all good, in every possible degree, and relation, he must 
know all evil as it stands related to the contrary good. 

3. Beside, though every created nature, as it is the fruit of divine purpose and 
operation, is good, nevertheless every creature has a tendency to sink into its original 
mhility ; or (if preserved to answer tiie purposes of a moral system and accountable- 
ncss) it has an equal tendency to defection ; and is preserved in either case only by a 
sovereign fauour. Tliis tendency alike to nothing and to sin is that passive power 
which constitutes the essential difference between an absolute and a contingent be- 
ing, between self -existence and tliat which is derivedl 

4. Though in what is properly evil there is no divine impulse or positive causa- 
tion, yet that tlie evil may be known by the omniscient with infinite accuracy, is 
evident from the consideration of every being, whether caused or uncaused, having 
an hypot/ietical tendency in its own nature. On tliis truth is founded every argument to 
prove divine perfections from divine existence ; any cfiect from a cause, or any cause 
from an effect. Such as if there be a first cause, mere chance is excluded — If there 
be a supreme essence, it must be good — If there be a moral system it must be wisely 
governed — If God deal with a free agent in strict equity, (i. e. without any mixture of 
sovereign favour) such agent will be certain to abuse his liberty — if a sinful creature 
be made just, holy, and happy, it must be by sovereign grace, &c. Therefore 

5. All evil is foreknown. Q. E. D. Cor. Not any thing can be so contingent- 
as not to have an assignable^ infallible cause of its existence, either positive or nega- 
tive, efficient or defi<;ient. W. 

* The principal ground on which divines and metaphj'sicians have opposed the 
doctrine of scientia media, or hypothetical prescience, seems to have been a mistaken 
a[)prehcnsion that good and evil have anifirm rather than opposite causes. Those 
who are jealous for the honour of sovereign grace cannot allow good works to be only 
foremn J and those who are jtalous for the honour of moral ggvcrnment cannot eu- 

Lect. xlii. Of the Wisdom of God. S89 

Of the Wisdom of God, 

§ 1. Def. A HAT being is said to be speculatively wise, 
who is able rightly to determine and judge of the relation of 
means to their respective ends, and the value and importance of 
those ends with respect to the person by whom they are pur- 
sued : and that being is said to be practically wise, who de- 
termines his own choice in a manner asrreeable to such rieht 
views, so as that his own greatest happiness may be most effec- 
tually promoted, if it be not yet perfect, and maintained, if it be. 

§ 2. Cor. 1. A being of great sagacity, who in some in- 
stances chuses excellent ends and right means, yet neglects the 
greatest of all, may be said to have a partial practical, as well 
as speculative wisdom, yet must on the whole be accounted 

§3.2. Speculative wisdom is a part of knowledge. 

§ 4. Prop. God is possessed of the highest degree both of 
speculative and practical wisdom. 

§ 5. Dem. 1 . We can conceive no more exquisite degrees 
of wisdom, than are displayed in the formation and preservation 
of the world, where we evidently see a most astonishmg subordi- 
nation of means to ends, rising through numberless degrees, in 
which the most penetrating human understanding is soon swallow- 
ed up. See Lect. 30. § 2. Lect. 31. § 9 — 20. 

§ 6. 2. We see nothing upon which we can with certainty 
pronounce that it is on the whole foolish, because we know not 
Avhat its connection may be, and what end it may subserve^. 

§ 7. 3. So far as we can judge from fact, God is specula- 
tively wise. 

§ 8. 4. Speculative wisdom being included in knowledge, 
which was before proved to belong to God, another argument 
arises independent on the former. § 3. Lect. 39. § 5. 

a Pope's Ess. on Man. 

Jure the thought of sin being fore-appointed. Each therefore seems to possess half 
the truth. The hypothetical tendency of good is known in its all-sufficient ca'ii\' ; 
but that of evil in its deficient cause, the liberty and passive power of the creature. 
The learned reader who wishes to enter at large into tlie manner in wliich the sub- 
ject has been discussed by scholastic divines uiay consult Dv, Twisss's Dissertatio 
de Scientia Media, Fol. Arnheui. 1639. W. 

VOL. IV. 3 C 



Part ii. 

§ 9. 5. God is possessed of the highest degree of specula- 
tive wisdom. 

§ 10. 6. To chuse and act, with an utter disregard to his 
own felicit}'^, when known, (as by the preceding step he must 
know the most certain methods of maintaining it) would be a 
character in a rational agent so unaccountable, and in so peculiar 
a manner unworthy of deity, that nothing could be more dis- 
honourable than to ascribe it to him =*. Valet propositio. 

§11. Cor. Philosophical liberty belongs to God in the most 
perfect degree ; for that is indeed no other than the practical 
Avisdom here defined: Fid. Led. 18. § 7. and that liberty of 
action belongs to him, appears from comparing Led. 18. § 4. 
with Led. 34. § 5. 

§ 12. Schol. It may be objected, that it is dishonourable to 
the divine being, to suppose that one thing can be more con- 
gruous to his happiness than another. To this we reply, that 
we most readily acknowledge, that it would be very absurd (for 
reasons afterwards to be mentioned) to suppose, that the divine 
felicity depended on the existence of his creatures, or any action 
of theirs. Nevertheless it is reasonable to believe, that the di- 
vine nature is such, that unspeakable delight must arise to him- 
self from some methods of acting, which so perfect an understand- 
ing cannot but approve ; and that on the other hand, different 
methods of acting must appear to him the objects of aversion, 
as being in themselves absurd, contemptible and mean ; v. g. 
for him to do homage to any of his creatures, as more excellent 
than himself; or to make a creature merely to torment it. It 
is so far from being dishonourable to God, to suppose his happi- 
ness inseparably connected with certain methods of acting rather 
than others, that we could think of nothing more reproachful, 
than to represent him as so arbitrary a being, that of all possible 
methods of acting which might be proposed to him, it would be 
as congruous to his nature and happiness, to chuse one as the 
other ^, 

» WiLK. Nat. Rel. p. 123, 129. 
Clarke at Boyle's Lect. p. 106, 107. 
TiLLOTS. vol. ii. p. 617, 618. 
COLLIB. Inq. p. 65, 66. Ed. 3. p. 77, 78. 

Abern.voI. i. Serm. x. 
b FosT. Serm. vol. i. No. 5. 
Grove on Wisd. p. '^1—23. 

Lect. xliii. Of Goi^s Liberty and Happiness. 391 

Of God's Liberty and Happiness. 

§ 1. Prop. JL O enquire how far natural liberty belongs to 
God. Fid. Lect. \1.^\2. 

§ 2. Sol. and Dem. 1 . Whenever any thing is more con- 
gruous to the divine felicity than another, God certainly chuses 
itj nor can we suppose him to do otherwise, for that were incon- 
sistent with his wisdom, and therefore contrary to Lect. 42. § 4. 

§ 3^ 2. Nevertheless, when of many things which might be 
proposed any one is equally congruous to his felicity with the 
rest, in this he has a natural freedom of choice ; and it seems 
that many things are indeed of such a nature. Now that this 
liberty is to be ascribed to him, appears from its being found 
in the human mind, and its being a perfection in its degree'. 
Lect. 20. § 2. 

§ 4. Schol. It is objected, that it is a reflection upon infinite 
wisdom, to suppose that God does not always chuse that one 
scheme which is of all others the best, i. e. the most congruous 
to his felicit3^ 

§ 5. It is replied, the objection goes upon the supposition 
that there is one fitter than the rest, which is begging the ques- 
tion. If it be enquired, whether God could not contrive such a 
scheme ; it is answered, that we most readily allow, that he 
might form a scheme, fitter than the best which any created 
understanding could contrive ; but to say, he could not form 
another equal to that, is speaking without proof: nor does it 
appear, that it would be any honour to divine wisdom to main- 
tain it, more than to say, that having made one human face ejf- 
ceeding beautiful, it should be impossible for him to make an- 
other, whose beauty should on the whole be equal to it, even 
though some of the features were different : and when God 
chases one of those many things than which nothing could be 
fitter and nothing better, he may agreeably to the common 
forms of speech be said to chnse the fittest and the best. Never- 
theless we must acknowledge, that when m'c weak creatures 
speak of the divine wisdom, we speak of what is to us an un- 
searchable thing''*, 

a Waits on Lib. p. 41, 42, 4V— 48. I Grove on Wisd. p. 24—26,30—37. 

Hartley on Man, prop. ix. j b PRicE'sFourDisseriations,lst Ed.p. l21.Notc. 

* To the demonstration it may be objected, that it does not appear conclu- 
sire in Lect. 19. on which the reasoning is founded, that the human mind is pos- 

3 C 2 


§ 6. Prop. God is infinitely happy. 

§ 7. Dem. l . His wisdom always enables him to know, and 
engages him to chuse what is most conducive to his happiness. 

See Led, 42. § 4. 

§ 8. 2. Being omnipotent, he is always able to do what- 
ever he chuses, and above the possibility of being disturbed or 
hurt by any being whatsoever. Led. 34. § 5. 

§9. 3. To suppose the divine happiness dependent on any 
creature, would be most absurd ; for then, before that creature 
was produced, he must have been unhappy ; and as he had eter- 
nally existed before the production of that creature, he must 
have been eternally unhappy, i. e. of all other beings the most 
unhappy, which it would be most dishonourable and groundless 
to imagine. Therefore God is infinitely happy ^ Q,. E. D. 

i. TILLOTS. vol. ii. p. 586—588. | Collib , Inq. p. 57—59. Ed. 3. p. 67—69. 

sessedof natural liberty in the sense here taken. See Led. 18. § 3. Note; and Lecf, 
19. § 5. Note. — And even were it applicable to the humaa mind in fact, it does not 
appear that it would be a perfection j and therefore not applicable to God. — As to 
the question, Whether there may not be a perfect eqiiulily in different objects ? Let 
it be observed : 

1. That there is adistiiiction to be made between tlie goodness or beauty of an 
object in the abstract, and the same ri'lurhelij considered. Therefore, on supposition 
of an abstract equality, it would not be conclusive to reason from it to that whidi 
is relative. Again, 

2. As relative equality is the thing in question, and if there be no relative differ- 
ence in the. objects, except what is supposed to exist in the mind exercising its vo- 
litions, by due consideration it will be found that the supposed objects are in reality 
idem. Moreover," 

3. Tlie argument seems to prove too much, and, if so, proves nothing to the 
purpose. If /:t'o things may be, in a relative sense, or as parts of a sj'stem, equally 
good, beautiful, useful, &c. in all respects, and this possibility must be supposed 
founded in the divine all-sufficiency, it follows that such objects and systems may 
be multiplied ad injinitmn, as this all-sufhciency knows no limits. But will any one 
plead that countless miUious of systems, ad irifinitum, may be i« all respects perfectly 
eqjial? — Beside, 

4. Supposing two objects (and by parity of reason countless millions) were 
perfectly equal as to quantity and quality, they must needs differ either as to time or 
place. But such difi'erence must exclude perfect relative equalit}\ 

5. Tiie improbability of the sentiment which occasions this note will be ren- 
dered still greater by another consideration. Difference, it should seem, is essential 
to every creature as compared with itself in successive points of its existence. Per- 
fect sameness, or identity, seems incompatib'e with absolute dependence ; but abso- 
lute dependence is the c:)ndition of every created nature ; therefore deity alone ex- 
cludes difference, compared with itself in reference to successive periods. But if every 
object thus differ from itsr-lf, it is still more probable that it differs from every other. 

It is useless to object, that two or more things or sj'stems may be specifically 
the same hut identically different; as, for instance, two pieces of money, two eggs, 
two blades of grass, two grains of sand, drops of water, or particles of liglit. For to 
whatever extent their equality may be carried, there must remain still some relative 
difference: a difference which 7)uiy be of great importance in a system, but which it 
is i)ot possible to prove of no importance. W. 

Lect. xLiy. Of thi Unity of God. 39$ 

§ 10. Schol. It may be asked, why does God act at all, if 
he be, as the proposition supposes, perfectly happy previous to 

§11. To tliis we may answer, that the divine being may 
find some unknown delif^ht in those volitions, by which he com- 
mnnicates bein^ and h;ippiness to his creatures ; nor does this 
suppose any ch^^ige in him, since it is reasonable to believe he 
always wills the same thing ; {Lect. 40. § 16.) viz, that at such 
times and in such circumstances beings should exist ; and being 
secure of the execution of his volitions, {Led. 34. § 13.) what- 
ever delight he can be supposed to have in the actual production 
and happiness of those beings, he must have had in the purpose 
of producing them : so that in this respect, things that are not, 
are to him as if they were. And if it be said, that there is a 
change in him, wlien in consequence of his volition those crea- 
tures are produced, he being now their creator, supporter, bene- 
factor, &c. which he was not before, it is answered, this is no 
change in him ; a change of relations necessarily arising from 
the very idea of a creator, and being perfectly consistent Avitli 
the highest conceivable immutability ; else God is changing in 
numberless instances every moment, as the relations of his crea- 
tures change. 

§ 1 2. And if it were to be allowed, that we find some degree 
of uneasiness attending the desire necessary to produce action 
in W5, which however seems not to be wholly the case, yet we 
could not thence argue, that it must be so with regard to 
all created beings ; much less can we assert it of God, in M'hose 
volitions and motives of action, we must after all acknowledge 
there is something, which we cannot fully explain ^ 

Of the Unity of God. 

§ I. Prop. JL HERE is no self-existent being besides that, 
whose existence and attributes we have demonstrated above. 

§ 2. Dem. 1. If there were any other self-existent being, be- 
sides that wliose existence we have demonstrated, he must in all 
respects be equal to him ; for otherwise it would be natural to 

«i Howe's Works, vol, i. p. 505,. \ Grovf, on Wisd. p. IS— 2a 


suppose some derivation or dependency, inconsistent with self- 
existence, and consequently with the hypothesis. 

§ 3. 2. To suppose such another being, is to limit the omni- 
potence of God ; for (not to plead God's supposed incapacity 
to annihilate or change him ; because it may be said, that ad- 
mitting him to be self-existent, this would be a contradiction, 
and therefore an incapacity of effecting it no limitation of pow- 
er ; nor to insist upon his inability to controul him on account 
of the supposed omnipotence of this other being, to which the 
same thought may be applied) it seems he would be unable to 
act without his consent, at least tacitly implied. And if their 
volitions should in any respect contradict each other, which in 
things indifferent they might at least very possibly do, the one 
would be a restraint upon the other, and so neither would be 

§ 4. 3. It would be impossible for God to conceal any of 
his counsels or purposes from the knowledge of such a being, 
which would in some degree derogate from his majesty : or if it 
were allowed, that he might conceal any thing from that 
other being, that other being might by a parity of reason con- 
ceal some things from him, and consequently he would not be 
omniscient ; nay, supposing this being to be infinite, the num- 
ber and variety of things so concealed might surpass any expres- 
sion or imagination of ours. 

§ 5. 4. It is a much greater glory to be the highest of all be- 
ings, than to be only one of a number of equals ; now this su- 
premacy of God would be destroyed by the supposition of an 
equal, especially when it is considered, that no one can say how 
many they might be, for we might allow two millions as Avell 
as two. 

§ 6. 5. It would be much less honourable to God, to sup- 
pose any such other being as himself, than to suppose the con- 

§ 7. 6. The unity of design, which seems to prevail in the 
works of nature, makes it reasonable to believe it had but one 
author, and that he operated in an luicontrouled manner. 

§ 8. 7. There is no reason from the light of nature to con- 
clude, that there are any more deities than one, or indeed to 
tmagme there are any more ; since one almighty and all-wise 
being can do as much as a thousand such beings can do ; and if 
any revelation of it be pretended, it will be examined in its pro- 
per place. 

Lect. xLv. Of the Unity of God ; continued. 395 

§ 9. 8. It is reasonable to believe, there is no self-existent 
being, besides that one, Avhose existence and attributes we have 
already demonstrated \ Vid. Lect. 29. § 12. 

Of the Unity of God; continued. 

§ I. Schol. I. A.T is readily acknowledged, that these argu- 
ments, as well as many by which the foregoing proposition has 
been proved, do not arise to full demonstration ; yet they carry 
a very strong degree of probability in which the mind must ac- 
quiesce, till further proof can be offered from other principles. 

§ 2. 2. LiMBORCH objects, that this proof is built on 
the supposition, that God is a being of all possible perfections : 
we reply, it goes on the supposition, that we are to conceive of 
him in the most honourable manner that we can ; and it seems 
enough, if we can prove that it is dishonourable to the deity to 
suppose a plurality ''. 

§ 3. 3. To the argument Lect. 44. § 7. of the last it is 
objected, (l.) That we cannot see how far the unity of design 
is preserved, unless we knew the whole system. 

§ 4. (2.) That so far as we can judge by the specimen we 
have, it seems that unity of design is not preserved, since there 
is a mixture of good and evil ; which makes it probable, that 
there must be at least two self-existent beings, the one evil, and 
the other good. 

§ 5. To the first of these we answer, that we must judge 
by analogy in this respect as in many others ; and particularly 
that the unity of the divine being stands thus far on the same 
footing with his wisdom, which can only be proved from a com- 
prehensive view of the whole scheme, and must be left an uncer- 
tain thing, by all created understandings, if the reasoning in the 
objection be admitted. As to the second, it will be more fully 
answered below : for the present it may be sufficient to observe, 
that the quantity of good, being so much greater than of evil, 
there is no reason to believe two equal beings, one entirely be- 

a Wii.KlN's Nat. Rel. p. 113, 114- | Grot, de Verit 1. i. c. iii. 

Burn, on Art. J). '23, 24. j Lactant. Instit. I. i. c. iii. 

Ci.ERlci Pneum. 1. iii. c. x. ?2 — 4. I AberN. vol. i. Serin, v. prxs. p. IC4 — 177. 

Locke's Fam. Lett. p. 412— 415. j Priest. Insiit vol. i. 

Clarke's Posth. Serm. vol. i. p. 29. j Lett, to Pliilos. Unbel. parti. 

Grove's Posth. Works, vol. iv.p. 20—21. I b LocKE'sLett. p. 424— 4'.'8. 

HuWE's Works, vol. i. p. 72, 73. I 



Part it. 

nevolent, the other entirely malevolent ; which yet must be the 
hypothesis, if the phaenomena referred to could grow into an 
objection against the proposition' . 

§ 6. 4. Mr. Grove argues the truth of the proposition, from 
our having no revelation of more deities than one ; whereas if 
there were more, every one of them would be the reasonable 
object of veneration from all other beings, even though no be- 
nefits were conferred ; and consequently any one wise self- 
existent being would reveal to all his creatures the general know- 
ledge of his associates, that they might pay them all due venera- 
tion. But we do not chuse to insist upon this, because it de- 
pends upon those moral perfections of the deity, which we have 
not yet demonstrated ; and might be liable to some objection, 
even if those moral perfections were granted **» 

§ 7. 5. It seems not improper here to mention some other ar- 
guments, which have been urged by writers of considerable note, 
which yet appear not to carry along with them equal conviction 
with the former. 

§ 8. (1.) Clarke and Colliber argue from the nature of 
self -existence, which is simple , uniform, and universal ; whereas 
all variety must arise from some external cause, be dependent 
on it, and proportionable to the efficacy of it. But to this it is 
objected, that if it were allowed that extension and duration 
were not, (as Dr. Clarke supposes,) properties of God, (which 
if they are, they are undoubtedly distinct properties,) yet intel- 
ligence and volition, Avhich all allow in the deity, may be con- 
sidered as various things ; how then shall we account for this 
variety in him ? or if we say he is, what the schoolmen called, 
purus putus Actus, what idea shall we fix to those hard words'^ ? 

§ 9. (2.) TiLLOTsoN and Clarke both argue, that if there 
were another self-existent being, then the existence of God 
would not be necessary, nay, that this would introduce atheism ; 
for no one of the supposed number would be necessary, i. e. 
there would be no God : for you might suppose any one of them 
not to exist, if the other would suffice to account for all the phse- 
nomena of nature. But I confess this argument seems to me to 
arise from the ambiguity of the word necessary : in one place, it 

a Hist, of Works of the Learned, Sept. and Dec. 
1739. Art 13 and 30. 
FosT. on Nat. Relig. vol. i. p. 42—43. 
Clerici Pneum.3. x. 4— ti. 

b Grove's Post. Works, vol. iv. p. 27—29. 

Nye on Nat. and Rev. Relig. p. 40— 42. 
c Cr ARKE at Boyle's Lect. p. 4C). 

COLLIB. Inq. p. 26,27. Ed. 3. p. 30—3?. 

Lect. xlv. Of the Unity of God; continued. 397 

signifies what is hypotheticalh/- necessary, i. e. necessary in 
order to solve some apparent phenomena ; in the other, it sig- 
nifies underived^^'. 

§ 10. (3.) WoLLASTON argues, (as Mr. Locke has done in 
the preceding references) that if two or more such beings as Ave 
have described be supposed, their natures must be supposed ei- 
ther the same or difierent; if different, they must be contrary, 
or various ; if contrary, each must destroy the operations of 
the other; if various, one must have wliat the other wants ; both 
therefore cannot be perfect : but if their nature be perfectly the 
same, then they would coincide, and indeed be but one, though 
called two. But this latter branch of the argument seems not 
to be self-evident : for aught appears, t\\e,y Vii\g\\t\)e specifically 
though not identically the same : and if it be self-evident, it su- 
persedes all the former part of the argumentation, amounting in- 
deed to nothing less than an assertion, that the existence of two 
ail-perfect beings is a contradiction in terms ^. 

§ 11. All these arguments, Avith those mentioned in the pro- 
position, are stated and urged in Camb. of Exist, p. 236 — 246. 
^61, 71. 

§ 12. 6. If upon the whole that God, whose existence and 
attributes have been the subject of our former enquiries, were 
only a co-ordinate deity, and the God of our own system, he 
would nevertheless be the supreme object of our reverence, gra- 
titude and obedience*^ f . 

§ 13. 7. That several of the wiser heathens, notwithstand- 
ing the tales of their priests and their poets, believed the exist- 
ence of one supreme deity, appears from many passages in their 

a C[,ARX F. nt Boyle's Lect. p. 46, 47, 459—461, I b Rel. of Nat. p. 70,7 1. 

46.3, 464, 466, 467, 470. c Move's Works, vol. i. p. 100, 101, 

'i'lLLOTS. vol. i. p. 4'II,492. I Liv. Temp, part i. c. vi. §6. 

* Tills argumrnt for the divine unity should not be so readily given up. The 
distinctiou here made on the word " necesinrif does not aflect it. For il' there were 
two or more ,self-existcut beings, this absurdity would follow, that tliere woaldbe 
number witliout unity, or difterenoe without identity. Two beings include both, 
jiumber and difference , but number and difference are contingent ideas, and are to- 
tally distinct from absolute necessity, and therefore self-existence. Yet all contingent 
idea** imply absolute necessity of existence. Therefore, two self-existent beings 
involve a contradiction. W. 

f To this it may be objected, that supreme adoration to a co-ordinate deity would 
fee at least absurd, if not impious. Two beings co-ordinate must needs be contingent, 
whatever they are called ; but to give supreme reverence, gratitude and obedience 
to a contingent be ing, though comprehending the excellencies of all contingeut be- 
ings, is no better than a plausible species of idolatry. W. 

VOL. IV, 3 D 



Part ii. 

writings : and if the word God, wherever we find it used, were 
always to be considered, as signifyinp^ a being of all possible 
perfections, it would be difficult to prove, that there ever was 
such a thing as polytheism in the heathen Morld. It is the opi- 
nion of the learned and ingenious Dr. Warburton, that the 
mysteries of the greater initiation, among the heathens, was the 
discovery of the doctrine of the divine unity to the wiser part of 
the people : agreeable to which he supposes, that the song as- 
cribed to Orpheus, preserved by Clemens Alexandr!>7Us and 
EusEBius, was the very hymn used upon that occasion. That 
of Cleanthes (See Cudvvorth's Int. Syst, p. 432, 433, and 
West's Pindar) must be allowed in the strongest sense to speak 
this language ; and is perhaps the finest piece of pure and una- 
dulterated natural religion, to be found in the whole heathen 
world ^ *. 


Of Space, Place and Time, 

§ 1. ^r. \JfUR idea of space is a simple idea, which we get 
by observing the distance of one body from another''. 

§ 2. Def. The place of a body, is its situation with respect 
to some other body, with which it is compared ". 

§ 3. Cor. 1. According to the different surrounding bodies 
brought into comparison, any body under consideration, may 
be said to continue in the same place, or be removed from if*. 

§ 4. 2. The universe has no place*. 

§ 5. Prop. Space is a mere abstract idea ; and does not sig- 
nify any tl*ng which has a real and positive existence with- 
out us. 

§ 6. Dem. 1 . Space is either something real and existing 
without us, or a mere abstract idea. 

a Wahb. Div. Leg. vol. i. 1. ii. } 4- p. 131—160. 
Ed. I. 
TiLi,ARD'sReplvto Warb. c. jv. p. 24S — 272. 
Ac. Taylor of V'aith, Not. p. 12—17. 
I.E 1 AND on Re V. vol. i. c. 8, 9. 
Sykes's Connect, c. xiv. p. 36i— 3S3. pris. 
364, 365. 

Cud. Int Syst. c. iv. } 10—31, pras. i 19- 
p. 184 — 1»6. 

Lact. Inst. I. i. ?S. 
b Locke's Ess. 1. ii.c. xiii. ? 2 — i. 

COLi iB.Inq. p. 213. Ed. 3. p. 256,257. 
c Watts's Onto!, p. 380. Ed. 3. 
d Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xiii. i 7 — 9. 
e Locke ib. i 10. 

* Dr. Waiiburton's opinion is disputed hv Dr. John Leland, in his great 
work on the Christian Revelation, vol. i. c. 8, 9. — For the sentiments of the seve- 
ral sects of the ancient pliilosophers concerning the Deity, recourse may be had to 
Bbucker and Enfield. K. 

Lect. XLVT. Of Space, Place and Time. 399 

§ 7. 2. If space be something really existing without us, it 
is either a mode or a substance. 

§ 8. 3. If space be a mode, it must be a mode of some sub- 
stance, and this substance must be co-extended with space; and 
the ti;rcat question will be, how space differs from the substance 
whose mode it is said to be, or how that can be said to be a 
mode which, if it exists at all, exists necessarily, and is so far 
from depending upon any support, that it is itself the support 
of accidents, such as length, breadth, capacity, &c. Therefore, 

§ 9. 4. Space is not a mode. 

§ 10. 5. If space be a substance, it must be God : for those 
who assert its reality maintain, (as they needs must do) that it 
is self-existent, infinite and immutable ; and we have already 
proved [Lect. 44.) God to be the only self-existent, infinite and 
immutable being. 

§ I }. 6. Space cannot be God ; since mere space has nei- 
ther wisdom nor power, and we have already proved God to be 
both omniscient and omnipotent. Prop. 31, 33. 

§ 12. 7. Space is not a substance. Therefore, 

§ 13. 8. Space is a mere abstract idea, and does not signify 
an}' thing real and positive existing without us^. 2,. E. D. 

^ 14. Schol. 1 . By what operation of the mind. Dr. Water- 
land apprehends the idea of space to be formed ; and what he 
thinks the foundation of our mistaking it for something real, see 
in Waterland ap. Law's Inq. p. 14 — 16. Jacks. Exist, p. 
75, 76. Law ib. p. 26, 27, 30 — 33. 

^ 15. 2. To the proposition it is objected, that space is a 
simple idea, and therefore must have an objective reality. 

§ 16. To this some have answered, by denying that the idea 
of space is simple ; since we necessarily conceive of it, as hav- 
ing partes extra partes : but it is more justly replied, that bare 
privation is sufficient to suggest positive ideas, as darkness and 
silence, though they have nothing of an objective reality ^. 

^ 17. 3. It is said, that space forces its actual existence 
upon us. 

Ans. If its idea forces itself upon us, it is only as mere 
emptiness : nor can we certainly argue the real existence of v 

a I.OCKK'3 Ess. 1. ii. c. xiii. i 17, 18. 

C0I.I.1B. Inq. p. '2IH. Ed. 3. p. 261— 263. 

Ci.ARKF. at Boyle's Lett. ]>. 39, 40. 

Watis's t*i. 1. i. i 'i—s. p. .V-IS, J 7. p. 23—25. 

3D 2 

Rel. of Nat p. 74, 75. 
b Jacks, on Exist, and Unity, p. 63 — 69. 
Law's Jnq. p. 3j,34. 



Part ii. 

thing, merely from our not being able to avoid the idea of it, or 
to suppose it not to be'. 

§ 18. 4. It is further objected, that nothing has no proper- 
ties ; whereas we talk of the properties of space, and settle its 
dimensions as well as those of body. 

We reply, (as above, § 15.) that we sometimes talk of mere 
abstract ideas, as if they were real beings ; and though a shadow 
be only a privation of light, yet we often speak of it as a posi- 
tive thine''. 

§ 19. 5. It is further argued, that space is necessarily infi- 
nite, and therefore real. 

A77S. This takes the question for granted : for this infinity 
supposes its reality ; else, wherever body is, space is excluded : 
nor do we allow that our idea of space is infinite^ though it may 
be ever growing : the same argument would prove number to 
be infinite, which seems a great absurdity at first view''. 

§ 20. 6. If space were not real, it is said there could be no 
tnotion, because no space to move in. 

Ajis. a body might move on to infinity ; for there would 
be nothing to stop it ; and since motion is only a change of place, 
i. e. in the situation of bodies with respect to each other, (§ 2.) 
there needs no such medium through which the change should 
be made ^. 

§ 21. To this Mr. Jackson answers, that according to 
this account of motion, God could not move the whole mate- 
rial creation in a strait line. To which Mr. Law replies, 
with Leibnitz, that this -would not be real motion, since it 
is neither going to nor from any thing, but is still in the cen- 
tre of infinite space. If it be said, it relates to the various 
parts of the real space, the body going from one point of it 
to another; it is answered, that thi« is evidently taking the 
■whole question for granted ; and that a motion in a mere void 
is as conceivable, as a motion in a void space supposed ever 
so real. After all, the whole seems to amount to little mor.e' 
than a controversy about the definition of motion ^. 

$ 22. 7. It is further objected, that supposing two bodies % 

a Jacksos lb. p. fiP— 7:-. 

Law ib. p. 4V — 4t'- and p. 8 — !C. 
b Clarke atliovlc's ft-cLp. 16, 17. 

W ATis'.s Kss. 1. i. i b. p. 25—^8. and i 10. p. 
3)— 39. 

Jacks, ili. p. 77— SI. 

Law 's luq. p. ^ — iO. 

c .Tacks, ib. p. SI— RS. 

Law's Inq. p. 54 — 65. 
d jACKs.ib. p.S8— <)2. 

Law ib. p. 6."^— 88. 
e Jackson ib p. !»3 — 95. 

Law ib. p. 68—70. 

Clarkk and Li-ibnitZj p. S7. §5. p. 79. |4. 
p.yy. 1 13. p. 133. i 13. p. 307. }52, 53. 

Lect. xlvii. 

Of God as Incorporeal. 


yard asunder, and all intervening bodies annihilated, if space be 
nothing-, they Mould be contiguous, since in that case there 
would be nothing between them. 

u^ns. To be contiguous, and to have vothing beiweeji thevi, 
are not synonomous terms. To be contiguous, signifies to touch 
one another; Avhich is not a necessary consequence of their 
having nothing between them*. 

§ 23. Cor. It is matter of humiliation, to thinli that there 
should be such weakness and darkness in the mind of man, that 
some of the greatest geniuses should dispute whether space be 
God, or whether it be nothing^. 

§ 24. 8. It seems that time is an abstract idea, as well as 
space: having gotten tlie idea of it from some things in a con- 
stant succession, we conceive it to flow uniformly on, and to 
take in all existences; thus it becomes a kind of common re- 
ceptacle, as well as space. But many of the same arguments 
brought for and against the reality of space, may also be appli- 
ed to that of time ". Fid, Lect. 10. § 1, 13. 


Of God as IncorporeaL 

§ 1. Ax. JLt is impossible for two bodies to be in the same 
place at the same time. Vid. Def. 3. 

§ 2. Prop. God is incorporeal or immaterial. 

§ 3. Dem. 1. Materiality has already been proved incom- 
patible with self-existence, therefore God being self-existent 
must be incorporeal. 

^ 4. 2. If God were corporeal, he could not be present in 
any part of the world where body is: yet we have proved his 
presence to be continually necessary for the support and motion 
ofhody. Therefore, 

§5. 3. God is incorporeal''. Q. E. D. 

§ 6. Cor. God is invisible^. 

§ 7. Schol. 1 . The chief objection which lias been urged 

a WATrs's F^s. No. 1. Ml. p- 39—43. 

Jacks. ib. i>. !>'.'. 

Law ib. p. .'jO — 53. 
b Watis ib. .Vo.i. I fi. p. "0—23. 

Ram.'j. Phil. I'rinc. I'rop. il. Scbol. 2. 
c Law's Inq. p. ~9, SO. 

Jacks, ib. p.7(j. 

Wat rs's Ontol. c. iv. and xii. 

SOAMi'. Jkny.ns's Distjuis. Dissert. \r. 
d Ci.AiiKE's Serm. vol. i. p. 98. 0«l. 

FosT. on Nat. Rcl. p..SO, 51. 

Tay I or of Ueism, p. 259, 260. 
c ABiiRN. Sc:rF». vul. i. No. iv. 


against the proposition is, that unless God were corporeal, we 
could not imagine that he should produce body, since nothing 
can give what it has not. It is answered, that we grant nothing 
can produce an effect more excellent than itself; {Led. 28. § 1.) 
but to be corporeal is not a greater excellency and perfection 
than to be incorporeal, but rather the contrary : nor would our 
conceptions of God's producing matter be at all helped by con- 
ceiving of him as material ; unless that production were only 
making some alteration in the form and situation of some parts 
of himself, which is far from being the idea of creation: and 
indeed on the whole, creation is a thing of which we can form 
no distinct idea, whether we suppose the creator on the one 
band, or the creature on the other, corporeal, or incorporeal^ 

§ S. 2. Some who allow the immateriality of the divine be- 
ing contend, that though it is impossible one body should pene- 
trate another, yet it is not impossible that an immaterial being 
should penetrate body, for their natures will still be distinct ; 
and the pre-eminence of the divine nature above all corporeal or 
derived natures is such, that there is not an equal reahty in both, 
as there is in two particles of matter, which hinder them from 
coming into the same place. 

§ y. Ans. Though we easily perceive what it is for a subtil 
fluid to penetrate a body rarer than itself, v. g. for water to fill 
the pores of a sponge, yet this does not help our ideas, when we 
apply penetration to an incorporeal substance ; and it seems al- 
together as reasonable to suppose that an immaterial being 
moves bodies by contact, as that it does in a proper sense pene- 
trate them. If that penetration mean no more, than that God 
can act in and upon every particle of matter where or however 
situated, this will be readily granted, but this seems not to be 
what is contended for by Mr. Colliber. On the whole, con- 
sidering the immateriality of God, if any thing be asserted con- 
cerning his omnipresence, beyond what is expressed, Def. 32, 
it is to us m3'sterious and incomprehensible''. 

§ 10. 3. Notwithstanding what has been asserted in the 
former corollary, it may be allowed possible for God to manifest 
himself to his creatures, by presenting some material phaeno- 
menon to their senses, and thereby communicating ideas to them: 
yet in this case, it is only in a secondary and less proper sense, 
that we may be said to see God, or hear his voice '^. 

a Locke's Kss. 1. Iv. c. x. ? 18, 19. I Watis's Ontol. c. xii. p. 377—379. 

b C0ILI8. Inq. {). i!18— 221. Ed. 3. p. 263— 263. c BVRNETon .■irt. p.'25. 

Fool of Q.uaUiy, vol. i. p. 82. | 

Lect. xLvii. Of the Infinity of God, y^c. 403 

§ II. 4. Some who have maintained that God is so present 
as actually to fill space, have differed in explainini^ the extent 
of that presence. Sir Isaac Newton and Dr. Clarke argue, 
that infinite space is possessed by him ; but Colliber denies it: 
and though he maintains that the divine being penetrates all 
space, yet, as he denies the infinity of real space, he also denies 
the infinite extension of the divine being, and by a parity of 
reason, the infinity of the other properties of his nature: and 
as many of his thoughts are uncommon, it will not be amiss to 
subjoin some account of the arguments on both sides**. 

§ 12. 5. It appears, by the forementioned references to 
Colliber, that he denies God to be infinite , in our sense of in- 
finity' ; for to have no bounds, is to be in its own nature incap- 
able of end, which is the explication he gives of positive and 
absolute infinity. (Vid. Lect. 2:3. § 11.) How far he is con- 
sistent with himself, in denying this, while he grants what he 
calls a negative infinity, may be afterwards considered. It is 
however apparent, that if he keeps to his own idea, in denying 
the infinity of God he in effect asserts, that there are certain 
bounds, beyond which the extension, power, knowledge, &c. 
of the divine being do not exist : and indeed in his late treatise, 
wdiich he calls. The Knowledge of God, he very evidently avows 
it, when he confesses that the deity must have some figure, and 
intimates it may probably be spherical''. 

a Newton's Princ. p. 4S3. I Cockburnf's Works, vol. i. p. 400— i*)?. 

CuLLlB. Inq. p. 141, 1^2. Ed. 3. p. 170, 171. | b Collib. Known God, p. 22—24. 

* Colliber in his denial of God's Immensity, is not new. It was denied by 
SociNus and his followers, (see Socini Opera, torn. i. p. 685.) and by Vaortus, 
though not a Socinian. Compare Turhetini Institutioncs, Locus iii. quaest. 8, 9. 
vol, i. p. 213, 221. Geneva Edition. Colliber seems to want clear notions of his 
subject, and was by no means a close judicious writer, nor deserving of so much at- 
tention as our autlior has paid him. S. 

The fact is, that when Dr. Doddridge drew up his Lectures, Collibkr's In- 
quiry had excited considerable notice, a.s is apparent from its passing through tliree 
editions. The book is now nearly sunk into oblivion. It was formerly read by the 
present editor, who, in bis opinion concerning it, entirely agrees with Dr. 
Savage. K. 



OJ the Infinity of God — Something infinite. 

§ I. Prop. JL O propose and examine some of the most consi- 
derable arguments, brought to prove the absolute infinity of the 
divine being. 

§ 2. Lem. The solution will consist of two parts : in the 
first, we shall produce the arguments brought to prove that 
something is actually infinite: and in the second, shall consider 
the arguments to prove that infinity belongs to the divine being. 

§ 3. Sol. Arguments to prove that something is actually 

1. Some have argued from the nature of ?pace, which 
(supposing it to be, as Mr. Colliber does, a real thing) is cer- 
tainly infinite, and cannot be bounded so much as in thought. 
Colliber grants we can have no idea of the end of it ; yet 
maintains there may be an end of universal space, as we know 
there is of particular: and if it be asked, what bounds it ? he 
answers, nothing; but will not allow that it is therefore infinite. 
But It is plain he conceives of space only as the interstice be- 
twixt bodies ; and how this is more real than the void wdiich 
lies on the other side the remotest body, I cannot imagine. But 
if Prop. 40. be true, this can be no solid argument: for nothing 
■would be more absurd, than to ascribe infinity to nothing, pr 
to a mere abstract idea \ 

§ 4. 2. It is pleaded that the divine being is allowed to be 
eternal : now eternity, i. e. infinite duration, is as incomprehen- 
sible as any other kind of infinity. 

Colliber answers, eternity is not and cannot be an infinite 
duration, being limited on the one side by the present moment ; 
and he adds, that duration does not belong to God. Yet still, if 
we consider him as a being without a beginning, (which surely 
■we must confess him, or something to be) I see not how it is 
possible to separate duration from our idea of him: and if we 
cannot, surely here is an infinite in one respect, indeed in that 
respect in which it is most difficult to conceive of it''. 

§ 5. 3. Anotl>er argument is taken from the infinite divi- 

a Locke's Ess. 1. ii. c. xvii. H,2I. | b Locke's Ess. l.ii. c.xvii.?5,20. 

CcLLiB. Inq. p. 150— IW. fd. 3. p. 185—193, | Coi mb. Inq. p. Ii9, 150, 153,154. Ed. 3. p. 190 

I — 1S5, 

Lect* xlix. Of the Infinity of the divine Being, 405 

sibility of matter, sinc«i it is certain division can never anni- 

§ 6. This Mr. Coluber is obHged to admit But he 
pleads, that this infinite divisibility does not imply an infinite 
number of parts in every particle of matter, but rather the con- 
trary; for else the subject must be of an infinite bulk. Some 
have replied, these parts m